Goodwill Mission

We've all heard of the old-time traveling medicine show, when salesmen would stand on a crate in the town square and hawk their cure-alls with the help of some music, some comedy and lots of overblown rhetoric.

Well, the kids and I packed up the minivan and embarked on a true mobile goodwill mission. Our version included a movie, some (baby) juggling and an important message for the youth of our new hometown. It's all about giving back to the community, am I right people?

Here's how it all started:

On days I'm home alone with all three kids, I usually try to find somewhere -- anywhere -- to go for a little while. We spend a lot of time at Pierce Park and Timbertown and the Treehouse and McDonald's. Without fail, I get two or three "Wow, you've got your hands full" comments. True. But I'd much rather have my hands full somewhere fun than have my hands full inside the same walls. A trip out is often more for my own sanity than for the kids' benefit. (Maybe I shouldn't admit that!?)

Anyway, the other day the babies weren't sleeping very well so we (read: I) really wanted to get out of the house. My personal to-do list was getting overwhelming, so I came up with the perfect multi-tasking afternoon trip: I'd drive around in the minivan until the babies dozed off for a much-needed nap, I'd put Strawberry Shortcake on the DVD player to entertain Zoe ... and then I'd get the oil changed in the van. It was only 2,000 miles overdue.

After a 15-minute drive in the country, I pulled into Victory Lane with the plan working perfectly. While one of the three kids running the shop directed me into the oil-changing bay, another standing alongside the van yelled out, "We've got two sleepers. Let's keep it quiet." Is he serious? Is he angling for a tip? I love this place.

The sign outside Victory Lane promises a 10-minute oil change. At about the 3-minute mark (I hadn't even felt the guy underneath remove the oil filter yet), Mitchell woke up. I don't recall if we've ever described Mitchell's mood when he wakes up in his car seat ... but let's just say he sounds like a bobcat protecting his fresh kill from a hyena while simultaneously pulling his leg out of a trap. Yeah. Something like that.

So, while one kid filled up my tires with air and another tried to show me I needed my air filter changed and the third yelled instructions to the guy down below, I pulled Bobcat Boy out of the car seat for his first tour of an oil change shop. He loved it.

The workers -- personable and well-spoken like most Chelsea kids are, even the greasy ones -- all stopped to chat with Mitchell, each drawing a huge smile. And other than persistently insisting that "it smells terrible" inside Victory Lane, Zoe was still quite content with Strawberry Shortcake. Everything is great again. ... and then Alyse wakes up. She doesn't quite reach furious-and-anguished-bobcat level, but she wasn't happy either.

Now both of the van's sliding doors are wide open, with Mitchell and I entertaining Alyse outside of the one on the driver's side. About then, one of the kids walks over, motions toward the driver's seat and says, "I'm just gonna start it up." OK. He reaches through the window, starts it up, waits for a three count, reaches in and turns it back off. And all hell breaks loose.

Turns out that when the kid turned it off, he really turned it off. When Strawberry Shortcake went black, Zoe shrieked. The shriek scared Mitchell, who cried immediately. Alyse started crying as soon as I turned my attention to Mitchell and stopped jiggling the bumble bee over her head.

"We're almost done," one kid says apologetically as he hands me the bill. I put Mitchell back in his seat and work furiously to get Strawberry Shortcake back on the screen. All three are screaming.

Finally pulling out of the bay, with two of the three still voicing their unhappiness inside the van, I stepped on the brakes to address my three young oil-changing friends outside. (I certainly bonded more with them than any oil-change personnel in my 20-some years of driving.)

"Wear a condom."

"I will!" said one, while the other simultaneously replied "No shit!" The third just put his head down on the computer keyboard in mock exhaustion and laughed.

The Washtenaw Intermediate School District has since booked us to bring our Mini Van-Max Fun message to students at each of the county's 12 public high schools. It's all about giving back to the community, am I right people?