I really don’t mind my commute. I drive 45 minutes to an hour both ways. It ‘s my chance to change into my new persona before arriving at my destination. My car serves as the phone booth that Clark Kent would use before transforming into Superman. In the mornings, I transform from snotty-nose-wiper Mighty Mom into high-heel-wearing Power Pro. In the afternoons, I morph back into my domestic alter ego.

I feel like I need that little bit of time between transformations in order for me to be fully vested into my new role. Plus, my commute is the only time, and I mean ONLY TIME, when it is just me, alone, listening to whatever radio station I want to, thinking whatever thoughts I need to, without interruption or compromise.

Yes, I lose an hour of sleep, yes, it puts miles on my car, and yes, traffic can make the experience a little less therapeutic. But still, having an hour alone offers a little bit of freedom that I think all moms deserve – even if it means stealing that hour going 65 on the freeway.

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