Master of My Domain…

I can’t wait to drive to Santa Fe. It’s not to enjoy the adventure with my mom as we take turns at the wheel for the two-thousand-mile-plus trip cross country. It’s not because of the picturesque states we’re going to motor through and tourist sites we’ll most likely stop at. It’s not because of the special mother-daughter bonding time (Mom is thinking a la Oprah/Gayle) that I’m excited for this drive in my souped up white Mini Cooper Clubman. I am simply looking forward to having my radio to myself.

I can’t remember the last time I didn’t have a smart-mouthed, back-talking teenager with an itchy trigger finger changing my stations as soon as the engine started up, preventing me from enjoy the music that I like to listen to. And the music that I listen to isn’t that shabby, mind you. I’m pretty current when it comes t0 taste in music and I just happen to be in an alt rock phase and listening to a lot of FNX. My boys should be down right thankful that I’ve moved on from my John Denver phase. And now that I have a year free of Sirius satellite radio with my new Clubman, they should be ecstatic that we don’t have to listen to three minutes of commercial breaks or news updates on our way to school, which takes all of five minutes to get to.

Since the commute is so short, I’m pretty covetous of my radio listening time.  I want those minutes to be well spent. (I am big on spending my time well. You’ll get used to this.) And, now that the satellite stations are so suited to my tastes and commercial free, no less—uninterrupted Alt Nation, ALL DAY! ALL NIGHT!— I should have no problem spending the short commute listening to quality music that makes me happy. Well, that is, unless my children are in the car with me, which one of them always is. So, instead, I get to listen to three seconds of Muse or Group Love or Kings of Leon before I’m listening to millisecond blips of songs as son number two scans through all seventy-odd Sirius channels, which takes up every precious minute of getting to and from work/school each day. At which point, a pushing and shoving match ensues and we are slapping each others’  hands away, jockeying for radio position. But the little shit knows he’s got the upper hand. He knows that I have a manual transmission and that there are several points in the drive when I have to use both hands to steer and shift at the same time. I’m outmaneuvered! Now, I’m listening to Biggie Smalls on Backspin for the duration. I’m not happy! And I paid a heck of a lot to be happy in that zippy little car!

I admit there are times that I fantasize about getting in my car after said child goes to bed just so I can listen to the radio. There are times when I fantasize about opening the passenger side door and pushing said child out onto the side of the road (while I’m at a stop light, of course) just so I can press the buttons in my own car and change all the preset channels back to the stations I like to listen to: Lithium, Pearl Jam, 1st Wave, etc. (I’m starting to sound like a commercial for Sirius!) I live where radio stations don’t come in very well, so the best I can get at the house is Rock 101 (sketchy) or, better yet, the Music of Your Life on AM 1270, which does in a clutch. And we all know what it’s like listening to AM radio. There’s been a few days when I’ve just sat in the car in the driveway to listen to the damn thing.

So now I fantasize about miles of open highway with just me and my satellite radio. Both hands on the wheel. My presets all entered. Sun roof open. Wayfarers on…Mom—keep your hands where I can see them!