Yesterday I spent the afternoon walking to the boys’ school, making soup with Jack’s class, having a conference with Miles’ Language Arts teacher, who wants to move him into his own advanced reading group (I am wary of this, having been my own reading group in sixth grade and feeling alienated and wishing I hadn’t done so well on those stupid tests.), and walking home with Jack, who didn’t feel like staying for afterschool club.
On the way home, the mechanic called to say my car was ready to be picked up. But, you know, I didn’t have a car to get myself there. I had a brilliant idea: Jack and I could ride the bus.
We don’t live in a huge city, and public transportation is still the subject of television promotions to Save Money and Ride! The kids have been fascinated with the bus for a couple years now, but we’ve never ridden. I decided that this was the time.
Never has a child had so much fun. He also figured out how to read the map, deciphering the little arrows and different colored routes. He also is young enough to ride for free.
And of course it took longer to reach our destination, and it doesn’t go exactly where I need to go, and I live in a neighborhood which has most of the services I need within walking distance anyway, but after shelling out $650.00 on car repairs, I’m hanging onto this bus schedule.
And my kid can tell me which line to take.
Filed under Cars, Kids, Stories
To the lady sitting in the middle of the supermarket parking lot today–just sitting there in your car, not signaling a turn, yet flashing the universal signal for “asshole” at everyone who beeped their horn at you–just blocking traffic and looking all mean:
I’m sorry you’re having a rough day. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Until then, though, could you please try to drive by the rules so the rest of us can get our apple juice and yogurt?
Yesterday in the car we were singing along to the soundtrack of O, Brother, Where Art Thou?
Jack’s favorite song has always been The Big Rock Candy Mountain.
I’d heard the Safe For Kids version of the song a million years ago when I was a nanny, and I thought it sucked. So I’ve never taught it to my kids.
Yesterday, Miles informed me that there are kids at school who sing it differently than we do, and it sounds stupid.
You know, the real song goes “the birds and the bees and the cigarette trees,” and the kid version calls them “sycamore trees.” Then there’s my favorite line, “And the little streams of alkyhol come a-trickling down the rocks,” which I love because hello, it’s about alcohol and rocks, but also because the line preceding it goes, “In the Big Rock Candy Mountain/You never change yer socks!”
That’s pure musical gold right there.
But, yeah, the music nazis changed “alkyhol” to “lemonade,” and that’s just no fun at all.
I love going to get my car serviced. The guy behind the counter tells me to get the basic oil change, he’ll throw in the extras at no cost.
So I got my oil changed, new air filter and fluids filled, interior vacuumed and dash cleaned for 21 bucks.
And the woman with the long hair and bad attitude at the counter when I picked up my keys just sort of glared as he checked me out.
I mean, as he took my money.