A Silver Subaru, XM Radio and Juvenile

I navigate my silver Subaru along the winding back roads and through heavy morning fog. My mind jumps through the hoops of my to-do list. Cokie Roberts is on the radio, telling the world that Donald Trump is lighting a match to our country while the Democrats clamor to find a phoenix to rise from the ashes while putting out the fire.

I tire of the same old political story that overwhelms me daily. I switch my mind back to the day's tasks ahead of me: meetings to attend, promises to make, emails to return, doctors' appointments to schedule, babysitters to text, groceries to buy, and Facebook birthdays to wish. My back, which is now stiff in perpetuity, hurts so I turn on the seat heater and sigh a deep, long, wistful breath as my body reminds me it is tired before the day has truly started.

I am three hours ahead of the moment and I mindlessly slide my fingers along the radio dial until it lands on a song worth stopping for. It's not classical or jazz or classic rock. It's not an overplayed, contemporary pop song (sorry, Shawn Mendez!) that my daughters have forced me to listen to. It's Back That Ass Up. Do you know the tune?

Instinctively, I turn up the volume, so much so that the car windows are nearly shaking. My body starts to move within the confines of the seat belt and steering wheel. I loosen up my shoulders and tap my left foot against the floor of the car. I sing along: " Wanna walk it like a dog, yeah, break you off, yeah. Get mine, you gon' get yours, yeah, that's for sure, yeah."

The lyrics are crass, sexist and misogynistic. I would never let my girls listen to it. When I get to the (only) stop sign en route to work, I turn the volume down low. I don't want the commuters around me to look into my car and see a middle- aged woman blasting music at 7 am because it doesn't feel like an appropriate thing for me to do.

After I pass through the intersection, I crank the music right back up. There's no room for worry in my silver Subaru as Juvenile takes the stage for the final chorus.

"Hoe, who is you playing with?

Back that ass up."

I pull into the parking lot at work, turn the station back to NPR, grab stuff and turn off the car. I brush my skirt, adjust my suit jacket and politely say good morning to all of my colleagues as we enter the building. By the time my key turns my office door open, I've reverted back to myself, my appropriate self, and the moment in the cart is forgotten.

I love the way music takes us back in time. It's so sensory. If I could only choose one XM station to listen to for eternity, I'd say hand me my Doc Martins, my lumberjack button up, some Moosehead beer and turn on the Lithium. Lithium brings me back to getting my license and listening to a Nirvana tape, and wishing so hard that I would be cool as Bridget Fonda in Singles. It takes me back to dancing on the lawn at a Dave Matthews Band concert with my high school buddies, hoping the night would never end. #goodmems.

So, what is it about a good late 90's/early 2000's rap or hip hop song that speaks to me? It pulls me back to college when a lot of hip hop and rap became mainstream. While getting ready for a night out on the town, or a room party in the dorm next door, I'd throw in a hip hop CD and pump myself up for the party. As I pulled on a pair of form-fitting jeans and a tube top that was clearly not going to keep me warm trekking out to the bars, I'd sip some Zima and sway my hips to the beat. This became a ritual for me that lasted into graduate school. Then, it stopped.

Once I had kids, I no longer blasted much music at all, other than Barney, Baby Mozart or lullabies. The only time I heard music that was heard by the adult population was when I was introduced to my worst nightmare, Kidz Bop. Listening to little kids sing songs not meant for children's ears, with awkward modifications attempting to make the songs age appropriate, is far worse than playing an entire Barney CD 15 times in a row.

No, kids, Lizzo did not say, never ever, ever, ever, " You coulda had a good friend, non-committal." I will gladly let my girls know that anytime they want they can be a bad bitch.

Music that moves my body, like hip hop, reminds me of what my body used to feel like before kids. Music from my coming of age reminds me that I did come of age, that I had hormones and a sex drive. Barney and Kidz Bop stripped me of my sexuality and my sex drive, along with the new responsibilities I had as a mother. After having kids, I kissed my skinny jeans and tube tops good bye, welcoming nursing bras and falling madly in love with leggings. Leaking milk and wearing mesh panties and a giant pad just didn't feel sexy. I no longer cared if Andy found me attractive as I cared more about him taking the 2 am feeding shift so I could sleep. Listening to the music of my teens and early twenties reminds me being care free and of a time when one of my major concerns was how to manage a hangover at my part-time job.

During a recent ladies night out (that did not include blasting hip hop and drinking a Zima before going to the bar), my friends and I joked about renting out the local adult entertainment club, and inviting all of our girlfriends to a giant dance party. We could wear our tube tops, mini skirts, and try out the stripper pole free of judgement. It would be our safe space to reclaim our sexual, free-spirited selves.

We have yet to schedule the big party because we all have kids and jobs and soccer games and evening work events to attend, meetings to run, houses to clean, groceries to buy and a million other tasks that moms complete each week. It is also because our lives of responsibility have taken away our ability to rid our selves of our inhibitions and our big dance party would push us to be women we no longer relate to, even if she is always hidden somewhere inside of us.

Until then, I have solitary rides to work in my Subaru, XM radio and Juvenile.

*RIP Cokie Roberts, who passed away the day I wrote this post.