The Drive Home

Comedy of errors

You know that moment when you leave work early, thinking, “Yes, I am the master of time!” only to realise that the universe has other plans? Today, at 3 PM, I strutted out of the work, only to find myself immersed in a world of chaos — a glorified circus of parents with jelly tyres and blackout windows that seemed like they were auditioning for the next Fast & Furious movie. 

Seriously, guys, it’s pick-up time, not a demolition derby!

So, there I am, attempting to weave my way through traffic, thinking about the fuel gauge in my car, which is basically a countdown to either an explosive breakdown or me needing new pants. I pull into the petrol station, ready to deplete my poor bank account. But wait…I encounter the pump that apparently has made a pact with Satan. Every time I squeeze the nozzle, it audibly clicks off like it’s rejecting my attempt at simple math.

I glance at the cashier and we lock eyes — it’s a moment of understanding. I shrug, channelling my inner ‘what do I know?’ vibe. He grabs the mighty microphone and bellows, “Put it in the car and pull the lever!” Listen, pal, I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck yesterday! It’s not my first rodeo; it’s definitely your pump. By the end of my wrestling match with that beast, I’ve spent £13 to essentially get my car to the edge of the red line. At least it stops constantly harping about being in fuel reserve, right? I’ll find another station tomorrow because where is £13 getting me?

Next on the agenda: rescuing my daughter’s prescription from the chemist. Antibiotics, because apparently, my bubble bath addiction is akin to an all-you-can-drink neglect fest for her immune system. I stride in, drop her details, and settle in for the wait. After what feels like a brief eternity, the pharmacist approaches with an unfortunate question: “Would you like the medicine made up into bottles ready to use?” 

Erm, no thank you! I’d love to whip out my (non-existent) medical degree and create a DIY concoction in my very own Dexter’s lab! But obviously, I reply with a quick “Yes, please. I’ll gladly let you make it up for me before I start practicing my pharmacist skills!”

Time drags on, and eventually, the pharmacist returns with… half of the solution. Are you kidding me? If I had taken it home, I’d have been pulling a Home Economics miracle, stretching that liquid gold to last through the winter! Just like adding water to the shampoo bottle, right? 

Finally, it’s time to pick up the feral kids from school. I arrive just as darkness descends on the city like a dramatic soap opera episode. There, I engage in a little banter with the receptionist — who, let’s be honest, totally deserves my unasked-for choreography in the rain. I may not be Channing Tatum, but hey, I make ‘em laugh!

With the kids secured in the car, the verbal firehose opens wide! My undiagnosed autistic six-year-old launches into a non-stop lecture about Squid Games, presenting his own epic mashup of The Crystal Maze and The Hunger Games. Honestly, I can’t keep up; he only seems to remember half the stories about half the twists. How are we sharing the same brainwaves on this?

In the front seat, my daughter Zaara is rattling off Korean words she’s learned and has already designed her future home in Korea. I mean, she might just be one spelling test away from citizenship at this point! Meanwhile, I’m sweating in the hot, humid car, trying to make sense of the chaos as it swirls around me—with YouTube Kids blaring in the back. It’s a sensory overload that would make a tornado look like gentle breeze!

Oh, then there’s Zak, the wild card from childcare, who joins the fray with lungs fit for a rock concert. The chaos crescendos, but thankfully, a YouTube Kids episode and a snack keeps him at bay, granting me a rare moment of semi-peace on the drive home. 

But just when I thought we had made it, we burst through the front door, and they scatter to play, leaving me to prepare dinner: fish, mash, and broccoli. Yes, a true culinary adventure they all magically eat except for the eldest, who prefers ramen and a fizzy drink (but don’t worry, he at least “supplements” with a pack of blueberries every now and then!).

Bedtime? Total bliss! By 7 PM, they’re all washed and tucked in, and the TV’s off by 8 PM. I perch there next to my youngest — his tiny snores making me feel all warm inside, even as I reflect on the feral chaos. Yes, I complain a lot (a whole lot!), but deep down, they’re the colourful chaos that defines me, and without them, life would be far too quiet…and boring.

FiveKidsOneMom ✌🏼