Mom on the Run: A whole new meaning to ‘See ya later’

Lianne Wilkens/Columnist
Published: April 20, 2008

It's been a crazy day and I'm headed home—not to stay there, but to make a quick delivery before heading off on the next errand—and I'm two turns from my house when I pass my neighbor Donna. She's in her burgundy minivan going the opposite direction, and I put up my hand to wave, watch her turn in my rear-view mirror, then pick up my phone.

"Hey," she says after one ring. "How are you?" "Fine! I just wanted to tell you that your passenger-side headlight is out," I say. "And I'm probably about to catch up to you again. As soon as I deliver a roast chicken at home, I'm heading over to school to pick up from lacrosse practice." Our kids go to the same middle school and that was Donna's general direction, so I'm guessing she's going there, too.

Sure enough, "Do you want me to get him for you? I'll be there in just a min-ute." "Nah," I tell her. "He'll be filthy and stinky, and I don't want to inflict that on someone else's van." "OK," she laughs, "see you later!" and we hang up.

I haven't actually seen Donna, or at least not all of her, in months. Last summer we went for regular evening walks, we'd leave husbands in charge of kids and meander around the neighborhood until we felt guilty.

But then school started, with sports and practices and projects and errands, and our walks ended. Now we just wave when we pass on the street, two minivans going in opposite directions. I'm looking forward to the warmer weather and lighter schedule when we can walk again, and that's what I think about as I sit in the middle-school parking lot looking at Donna's van. I'd go sit with her, but our kids are due any second.

And sure enough, here's mine, and, "Mom? Can we take Brandon home?" "Sure," I say, "hop in," and both boys do, just as Donna pulls up, waves, and heads off, her daughter in the front seat. I wave back, wait for the school bus to move, and turn right out of the parking lot to skip the traffic. The boys talk about lacrosse while I think about where I've been—chicken and home and school—and all the driving still ahead of me—Brandon's, then home, then another round trip with my daughter. Whew. It's crazy, and I feel like I'm in a hamster wheel, back and forth and back and forth.

I turn left, then right onto Brandon's street, pull up in front of his house and watch him go inside. "OK," I tell my son, "I'll drop you off, then I'm gone again." I turn back toward my house (the third time I've been on this road in a half-hour, and I haven't gotten out of my van yet), and—"Hey!" I wave wildly at Donna as our minivans pass one more time, me heading toward home and her heading away. Again. For both of us. With more trips to go.

My son looks at me like I'm crazy, but I know Donna is laughing, too.

Lianne Wilkens lives with her family in Manassas. She can be reached at .