Dropping off, car lines, picking up, grocery stores, baseball practice, stop hitting your brother, don’t kick the seat, up and down the same roads we go, cracker crumbs trailing behind, to infinity and beyond.

Knowing that I spend this much time driving, my brother happened to notice that I had the option for Sirius XM radio in my car. So guess what he got me for Christmas? Love him for being so thoughtful. It was the perfect gift.

So now I have the option of over 150 different radio channels to scan through during my time spent driving. As I make my way to my son’s elementary school everyday, I’m searching, searching, searching. Amazed and entranced when a song and station identification pops up my screen. Oooooh…. lookee there…

*Squeeeeal…*

Its been a slight…er …distraction I might add also.

Anyhoo. So. While scanning through the endless list of stations, what am I looking for?

Well, first off, music. And there is plenty of that. I’ve been ROCKING out to “good but bad but I listened to it back then” 80’s and 90’s music. Culture Club, Debbie Gibson, Def Leppard, Lisa Lisa and the Cult Jam, I’m shameless.

Oh and current stuff too.

“I brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack! Mommy, that’s SILLY!!!! …Whose Jack? …And whose P. Diddy?”

Tik Tok on the clock, but the party don’t stop, no.

My family truckster spins the tunes.

And then there’s the new wave channel. Loving some old Cure and Smiths and Pretenders and doing the “Molly Ringwald” to General Public’s “Tenderness”. Or the Coffee House channel – acoustic covers of everything, even Cory Hay strumming old Men at Work tunes. Reggae, Frank Sinatra, alternative rock from the 90s (when I met my husband, oh the “Sweater Song”, sigh).

And there’s Disney Radio. It’s there, if I’d ever let my kids KNOW it’s there. No Jonas Brothers for now, mmm k? Thanks.

But now and again I am looking for a little talk radio. Hoping for something that catches my attention and pulls me in for the duration of the car line still creeping forward at an snail’s pace.

There are all sorts of news options which I like. A slew of ESPN and sports channels (whatevs, never listen to those). Religion, health, weather. And Howard Stern of course.

(Sidebar: While much of what Stern spews is garbage, I find myself listening sometimes. I guess I’m one of those people that gets so irked by him I need to hear what he says next. Which is, of course, his magic formula and why so many thousands of people listen to him daily. However, I will begrudgingly give him one thing. He does one HELL of an interview. He can get a celeb to say just about ANYTHING. Barbara Walters has nothing on that guy. Nothing. So, yeah, I’ll listen now and then.)

My most recent discovery is the COSMO channel. Oh ho yes. Now that there is a GEM. You know, it’s COSMO as in the magazine, but for radio. And one particular program is call “Cosmolicious”. Cute, no? And the 20-something DJs who talk using question marks chatter ceaselessly about every topic you might find in COSMO magazine.

“I dunno, I mean I think I would tell my husband if I got botox? Because like he would be mad if I didn’t tell him? But he might not even notice? For like a LONG time? So maybe? If he didn’t know? He couldn’t get mad at me about it? And then when he gets the bill? I’d be all ‘I’ve been getting it for a long time so whatever’?”

(True story.)

Like Stern, maybe even more so than Stern, I can’t turn the dial. I NEED to hear what they will say next. How do I make sure (hex? train?) my boyfriend so that he knows exactly what kind of 3 carat engagement ring I want without actually telling him ? How do women get through Valentine’s Day WITHOUT (OMG you poor thing, it so sucks, I can’t imagine) A MAN? But if you DO have a man, what shape should you get your bikini area waxed for Valentine’s Day? A heart? Arrow? Landing strip?

So I’ll switch over to the Entertainment Channel now and again – which has some interesting stuff. But then there’s the Rosie Show. *Sigh.* I want to like it but, I’m sorry, it blows. The fabulous Deb on the Rocks called it a “Hot Mess“. And she is so right. And unfortunately its not even good enough to be that bad that I want to listen to see what variety of hot mess she’ll make today. Bored. Bleh. Next.

There’s always the Martha Stewart channel. Honestly? I think I tried it once. I felt like I had failed at all things Susie Homemaker just by flipping to that dial. Also, next.

And if you want to try and picture what a bunch of Playboy models look like, or what they like to *giggle giggle* do, there’s always the Playboy station. For the two seconds I don’t have kids in my car, that is.

Because Playboy isn’t the only station dropping F-bombs and verbalizing adult scenarios. That’s just what happens with satellite radio and so I take care to police what’s on with two wee sets of 6 and 3 year old ears tuned in behind me.

So back to the music I go. Which is totally fine because there is enough variety for sure. That and the family friendly comedy channel which cracks me up…

“Larry the Cable Guy is Tow Mader’s voice Mommy!”

…Ok, its not that funny.

But what am I really looking for? What is missing from the 150 station long menu of radio wonderment?

Well. Where the hell is MY station?

I want a women’s interest channel. Not Martha, NOT COSMO, not just news, not just sports. I want a women’s interest channel that talks about parenting and school and balancing work and kids and finding yourself after you’ve had kids and marriage and friendships and the dreaded post baby muffin top. I want a channel that debates current topics like Michelle Obama’s fight against childhood obesity or the fact that Florida still won’t allow same sex couples to adopt. I want a channel for smart women, who like to see things happen and change and work – but for women who also like to talk about the best padded bras out there right now to revamp all of what 14 months of breastfeeding took away. I want funny, I want witty, I want current, I want to think.

You know what? The blogging world might be able help Sirius out.

Because really, the perfect women’s radio channel on Sirius should be inspired by a combination of some of the best women bloggers out there. Take Aiming Low, Pundit Mom, Motherhood Uncensored,  MOM 101, Deb on the Rocks, The Bloggess, Redneck Mommy, Uppercase Woman (oh I could so go on, really I could, because I know there are fabulous bloggers out there ALREADY doing webcast shows, rocking it better than Cosmolicious EVER could), include all sorts of topics mentioned daily on BlogHer, mix that with a whole lot of The Ellen Degeneres Show, some political brilliance from The Rachel Maddow Show and a smattering of the debate style from The View and, well, you’ve got my station.

Oh and if there are a few F-bombs or adults topics of discussion, bring it. If I found a station that good, I’d invest in a couple pairs of earmuffs for the boys in the back and let them kick the crap out of my seats as much as they damn well please.

Until then, I guess I am left doing the “Molly Ringwald” at traffic lights. And considering heart-shaped bikini waxes. You know, since I was looking to do something meaningful this Valentines Day.

“Mommy.”

“Yes, baby.”

“My eews.” (translation: ears)

“What about your ears, hon?”

“My eews. They got watew. (translation: water) …Inside.”

He pointed at his ears dramatically, acting as his own little neon sign blinking “ME! ME! ME!”

“You have water in your ears?”

“Yes Mommy. Need to go lady doctew.”

He has been fascinated by the fact yesterday’s ENT was a woman. Clearly, I’m doing a fabulous job raising a feminist son if a woman doctor seems to be such a novelty.

I leaned in to him and gave him a snuggle. “You need to go to the doctor because you have water in your ears too?”

“Mommy,” he said very seriously, “Not watew. Nope.”

He thought carefully for a moment.

“I got juice. I got apple juice in eews. Yeah. Yummy juice. ” And then he sighed deeply, looked up at me with big blue eyes and snuggled into my side.

“Ok, baby. We’ll fix you up. Don’t worry.”

Someone has been listening very carefully to all that is going on. Nothing gets by these kids of mine. And I shouldn’t forget that. So, on that note, let me go get my 2 year old a glass of apple juice. I have a feeling he’d like one right about now.

Every afternoon, I pack C. into the car and we drive a half hour over to T.’s school to pick him up from kindergarten. They are still “tweaking” the car pick up line (apparently) and the wait tests both of our patience. This afternoon, 15 minutes ahead of school dismissal time, we pulled up to the endless double row of cars, found our spot in line and I turned off the engine. It’s Florida, in August. The sun is hot. The parking lot’s tarmac is just as hot. I rolled our windows down for some breeze and texted my husband. It was then I heard a little peep from the back.

“I wan doy.”

“Um hmmm, one sec.” texttexttexttexttext…

“I wan doy.”

I turn around. “What do you want, hon?”

“I wan doy!”

“Toy? Which toy?” And I scan the crap on the floor of the car from something special that caught his eye.

‘No. DOY!”

“Not toy??? How about a book?”

(Sharp yell of frustration.) “DOOOOY!”

“I don’t understand honey. How about some milk?”

“AHHHHHMMMMAAAAAHHHHHHAAAHHH (high high, VERY high pitched squeal ensues.) DOOOOOYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

He’s purple now, mad. Straining against his car seat straps. Pointing at something in the center console.

“Well, honey” (and I can’t believe I said this) “You need to use words. Screaming is not going to get your way.” And with that, I turned back around and dialed the school’s office. T. would be late to school the next day due to a dentist appointment and I wanted to be sure they knew. Better not to give this tantrum any reinforcement, right?

Well. Stand back. A full throttle, kiss my grits and call me Sally, 2 year old, practically epileptic FIT wound into high gear in the backseat of my car. He thrashed, screamed, squealed, “DOOOOY!!!!! DOOOYYYYYYY!!!!! DOOOOAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!” He was frothing at the mouth, the car was rocking ever so gently, he was pointing at my console and kicking the utter crap out of the seat in front of him. Meanwhile…

“Yes, This is Caroline, T.’s mother. (“BAAAAAHHHHAAA DDOOOOOOOOOHHHHYYY!!!!!”) I would just like to (WAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH) let you all know (WAAAAAAAAAAAAH) that T. will (MAAAAAAAHHHH DDAAAAAHHHH) be late tomorrow due to (EEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHDDDAAAAHHHH) a dentist appointment. (EEEEEEEEEEEEE…. – can’t hear it any longer but I swear dogs are barking in the distance at this point.)

Eventually, I start the car, I am sweating like a mad woman and crank the A/C. We inch up. The tantrum doesn’t slow one teensy bit.

“Oh hon. WHAT?!!!! WHAT! IS! IT!” (EEEEEEEEEEEE) Seriously, I was going to loose my mind. What. The. Hell.

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!”

And as I was moving along the car line, slowly but surely, annoyed mothers all around me, I glanced down at the center console. There sits a dime.

“C. Do you mean a… coin?” And I hold up the dime.

Silence.

“YEEEEEAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

And a smile explodes across his face - seriously, its one like you’ve never seen. Utter, pure, joy, relief, even ecstasy. A Doy. A COIN. Cripes.

So, while he chants “DOY! DOY! DOY! DOY!” from the backseat, I hand over the dime. And he could not be happier. Just like that, all was solved. He talks to the coin, he has a full blown conversation with it. Don’t you dare tell me it’s a choke-able either.  (I’ll show you a %$&#@! choke-able…) And grateful, relieved for the peace at last, I pay him off with a variety of coins from that center console. I hear “Dis lillwwwew doy” (translation: “This is a little coin.”) and “Dis BEEEG (gruff voice) doy!” (translation: “This is a BIG coin.”)

Doy. You gotta be kidding me. My poor baby IS using his words, I just need to figure out how to hear them.