141. School Bus

So now Tall and Short are going to the same school. Tall is in first grade and Short is in half-day afternoon Preschool.

When we did the paperwork for Short's initial application and Miss Smythson called to let us know he was accepted into the program, we were very excited because we knew that Tall and Short would have the same basic schedule (as far as days off and holidays). This would simplify my life immeasurably.

"We are delighted to offer Short a spot in our program," she chirped with that sweet sing-song voice they all must learn in Teacher School.  Then, Miss Smythson added a simple caveat, almost an afterthought: “Just so you know, all children attending Crazy Town Preschool ride the school bus.”

I started to hyperventilate. I don’t have to drive him anymore?!? I don’t even technically have to get dressed if I don’t want to? (I should mention to you here that I have dedicated the past three years of my life to driving small people to various preschool classes and related activities.)

“Excuse me? Miss Smythson? What was that, could you repeat that? the part about the school bus?” I asked tentatively.

“The kids ride the bus; it's included in the special fees check you wrote,” she said nonchalantly.  I could almost hear her shrugging through the phone, as if to say, Bus? who cares, what difference does that make?     

It was such a beautiful sentence the-kids-ride-the-bus the-kids-ride-the-bus the-kids-ride-the-bus. I started whispering it to myself, like a mantra.  I wanted to roll the words around in my mouth over and over forever and never have them disappear, like the last Godiva chocolate in the box.  Although she was only a voice on the phone, Miss Smythson was my New Best Friend. I felt like she had called to tell me that I won 10 million dollars in the lottery when I didn’t even remember buying a ticket.

The. Bus. Picks. Him. Up. Truly, it is reminiscent of a private limousine service. I was a bit unclear on the whole tipping concept, however. Do I tip every day? Twice a day? Is a dollar enough? The Husband told me I was being ridiculous, that it was a public school after all; he said to just give her $10 at the end of the week.

No one was more thrilled about this latest development of a yellow bus stopping at our house twice a day as Short himself. He has a new adult to give back-seat driving directions to.

MOV
("Mantra Of Vitality")

139. The Lunch Date

So the two of us are driving in the car to go out to lunch. It's a rare moment in time that it's just the two of us, so rare in fact, that I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t accompanied by Tall, Short, and The Husband.

Huh, this is kind of weird, I think, back to the old days, when the two of us were first introduced and we were virtually inseparable. 

“Where should we go to lunch do you think?” I query.

“Ummm, well, I know that you love Natalia’s, so I guess that’s fine with me, too.”

“Are you sure?” I ask tentatively. The last time I picked the restaurant, he had a negative experience and I got to hear about it the entire drive home.

“Yeah, I like Natalia’s.”

So it’s decided. I’m stopped at the light and my mind is already wandering to my future dessert choice..... …..mmmmm………panne cotta is really good. Or I could get a piece of chocolate cake, how can you go wrong with cake? I do like her chocolate mousse……… maybe a lemon tarte?

“Hey! The light’s green! Wake up!”

“Geesh, okay, you don’t have to yell at me,” I respond. 

"And will you change the radio station? I don't really like this song." 

"Uh, okay," I relent, fiddling with the dials.  Since when is he so particular about the music selection? 

I drive forward and start to change lanes.

“What are you doing?!? You didn’t even look to make sure there were no cars in that area,” he admonishes.

“What's your problem? I'm a great driver. You don’t need to tell me how to drive,” I reply tensely.

“Looks like I do,” he says under his breath.

“What was that?”

“I said, ‘Looks like I do,’” he repeats, like a bratty child.

“Sweetheart," I begin sarcastically, "You don’t have to talk to me that way.” What's wrong with him, I wonder. Is he stressed out about something?

“Well, it’s just that you’re not paying attention to the other cars and now you’re deaf too?” he baits.

“That’s it. You know what? I don’t even want to have lunch with you now. Let’s just go home.” Now I’m angry.

“I’m sorry,” he says sheepishly. He knows he's in the wrong.

We drive a few more blocks in silence.

“You just ran that stop sign by the way,” he can’t help himself.

“Do you want to drive?” I sneer.

“Yeah, actually, I DO! I WOULD LOVE TO DRIVE! PULL OVER AND LET ME DRIVE!” he smiles for the first time.

“Are you crazy? I’m not letting you drive, and besides we’re almost there now.” I roll my eyes.

“Why did you say I could drive then? Are you playing a game with me?”

“Honestly, Honey, I've had enough of your non-stop critique of my driving. It’s rude. I’m a grown woman who's been driving for many years before you came into my life. How do you think I passed my driver’s test without you sitting there instructing me anyway? Huh?” I'm ranting, which is definitely ruining the whole “happy vibe” I was going for with this lunch plan in the first place.

“Fine.” He looks out the window.

I pull into the parking lot just as another car is pulling out. It’s a tight space to maneuver. Just when I think I'm done with his soundtrack of back-seat driving, he pipes up again.

He shrieks, “You almost hit that car! You are a bad driver. You know what, Mommy? I’m going to have to tell Pop what a bad driver you really are.”

MOV
("Missing Other Vehicles")

138. Valedictorian

There are certain people that appear in your life in certain roles, certain functions if you will. For these specific people, you hope with all your might that they got straight A’s in school. They are:

• Your Pilot
• Your Brain Surgeon
• Your Eye Surgeon
• Your Pharmacist
• Your Hostage Negotiator
• Your Contractor
• Your Car Designer
• Your Hang-Gliding Instructor
• Your Mountain Climbing Instructor
• Your Surfing Instructor
• Your Divorce Lawyer

You really don’t want someone who wasn’t paying attention that day or who possibly cheated off the “smartest” kid in the class.

Pilot: Damn, were we supposed to go to Paris, France or Paris, Texas? I always get those two confused. Oh, and do we have enough fuel if it is France? I really need some more coffee.  How do they measure fuel in France anyway, is it metric? is that something I need to worry about? you got A’s in Pilot School, didn’t you Co-pilot?

Brain Surgeon: Can you pass me that metal pointy-stick-thing, please? God, I forget the name of it again! No, no, not the one with blood all over it, the other one. Argh, I dropped it. Okay, the one with blood on it is all right I guess. Hurry up! I have a 3:30 tee time reserved.

Eye Surgeon: Nurse, this is such a simple surgery because honestly lasers do just about everything. The only real risk is if the laser is held in one place too long it can cause blindness, but that rarely happens. Hey, do you want to get a beer after work? There is this new brewery that just opened down the street. I tried it last week-end and I just got hammered!  So. Much. Fun.  Yeah, you want to go?  Ooops! (long silence) Well, good thing he has two eyes, huh?

Your Pharmacist: 100 mg, 1000 mg, 10,000 mg—wait, what was the right dosage? I can’t really decipher this doctor’s writing. Hmmm, can’t make that much difference I suppose. Gosh, maybe I should have been a fashion designer like I really wanted instead of going to pharmacy school like my dad wanted. I was never that good at math.

Your Hostage Negotiator: Release him now! What, you’re not going to release him? Fine. We don’t care. Just kill him then. Ha ha! We call your bluff! (loud bang) Uh, what was that noise?

Your Contractor:  They were out of 2 x 4's....... I think these 2 x 1's might work okay.  I hope.  Oh, and that metal I-beam?  It is super-duper expensive, so let's see if we can support the roof without it.  I'm betting we can.

Your Car Designer:  This is a dumb job.  God, I hate this job.  I always wanted to be on Broadway!  I have the voice for it, I just need to get an agent.  Maybe I should move to New York.  Who cares about these stupid petals and if they stick too much when you press them with your feet.   

Your Hang-Gliding Instructor: So the key thing to remember is always keep your chin down and your eyes up……… or, uh, no! eyes down and chin up, that’s it. I think. Anyway, you are securely belted in and you do have a parachute…….. oh, uh, looks like we forgot to fasten your parachute on. Dude, not good.

Your Mountain Climbing Instructor: Just be sure to hold on to this sticky-out piece of rock, just grab it then attach your metal hooky-doodles. Oh, you want to take a picture of that ravine? Nice camera!  Is that the new Nikon?  Yeah, I think that would make a good shot. Might be a tad back-lit, though.  Can you force the flash?  Here, I can hold your hooks for you…….. damn!

Your Surfing Instructor: Dude, it's so great to see older people like yourself taking an interest in surfing!  Hey, do you smoke weed, 'cause I scored some seriously good stuff today.  No?  Well, let me know if you change your mind.  Do you see that dolphin in the distance?  Wow, he's fast!  Look, he's almost to us now!  Uh, I sure hope it's a dolphin.  I've never seen sharks around here before.

Your Divorce Lawyer: He has absolutely zero rights, according to this ironclad pre-nup you had him sign. You'll get everything: the kids, the house, the vacation home, the cars, all the total liquid assets. Oh, wait..... this is the pre-nup YOU signed. That does change things a bit.

On second thought, you don’t want these individuals to have merely earned straight A’s; you pray that they were actually their class valedictorians.

MOV
(“Mindless Otherwise Vacant”)

132. Puppet

I vaguely remember what my life was like when I, MOV, was in control of my schedule. I kept my word, showed up to things I'd promised to attend, called people back in a timely manner, returned emails within a few hours, and occasionally went to the gym. In sum, I had a life.

I WAS ALWAYS ON TIME TO EVERYTHING. As a former flight attendant, time was of the utmost importance in my life (as we liked to joke in the Crew Lounge, if you are 5 minutes late, the jetway door is already shut and your airplane has taken off—literally; start looking for a new job, because you just got fired). I became obsessively early.

Six and a half years ago, I found myself thrown violently into a different life, a life ruled by a very short, noisy, demanding person—a person who (inconveniently) spoke not a word of English. He chose to communicate in a primitive way with grunts, cries, and sometimes laughter (in retrospect, I think it might have been the “mocking” kind of laughter). Additionally, he somehow never looked at his watch to determine when he was hungry or tired or happy or sick. It was HIS schedule, not mine.

Two years after that, another noisy interloper joined the ranks, and he had his own ideas about schedules (namely, that they were stupid). We threw all our clocks in the trash. I’m no longer a puppet to United Airlines; I’m a puppet to my sons.

Time morphs in strange ways when you are a mother. It bends and contracts and stretches, never when you want it to. The magic of Christmas morning? over in 2 seconds. Waiting for someone to finish pooping? 45 minutes. Brothers entertaining themselves quietly by drawing? 3 minutes (max). Waiting to pick someone up from swimming lessons when it is 110 degrees out? 4 hours. Being able to fit in the adorable and super-expensive hand-knit airplane sweater? 1 day. Brushing their teeth when you are late and have to leave right-now-this-second? 20 minutes.

The irony is not lost on me that when I say, “Hurry hurry hurry!” to them, it is not for something I necessarily want (like a massage or a sample sale at Barney’s); no. This Hurry Business is so they can get to their soccer game or their playdate or their art camp. All the activities are now kid-centric.

How did this happen I find myself wondering as I distribute juice boxes to thirsty children while standing in the playground for a group playdate on a random Friday afternoon from 4 to 6 PM. When did I downgrade from Pinot Grigio to apple juice? (That’s right, not even my happy hour is mine anymore.) Why are my conversations about Curious George movies instead of George Clooney flicks? (and why have I memorized the prices, release dates, and availability of all StarWars Lego sets?)

It has become abundantly clear to me that I need to reclaim some special MOV time, time that belongs to me and me alone. I would like to officially announce that everyone needs to leave me alone every day from 2—3:30 AM. Thank you.

MOV
(“Monologue Of Virtue”)

131. Conversation

We’re in the car driving to go out to dinner when the following exchange between The Husband and our 4-year-old takes place:

Short: You’re not much smart, Pop.
The Husband: But I feel smart!
Short: Well, you don’t look it.

MOV
("Might Overhear Variations")

130. Amusement Parking

We're on this crazy ride, we've been here several times before—the kids love it. The lights go out, they know the good part is coming—they're delirious with anticipation. I remind them to adjust their safety belts super-tight (The Husband smirks—has anyone EVER in the history of the world been injured on this deceptively simple ride?). We're all grinning, especially me, because the last time we came here this ride was inexplicably closed.

Here we go!

Eight thousand giant octopus arms lunge towards us, giving new meaning to the term “3-D”. Even though the rational part of me realizes that we are protected and safe, I feel like I could almost reach out to touch the components of the ride—a feat in engineering. Whoever came up with this concept is a genius (and probably a multi-millionaire to boot).

Thump-thump-thump! Whoooooosh, whirrrrr! Damn, they have great sound effects. (Truth be told, even though I remember this classic from my own childhood, I had blocked out the sounds—was it always this loud? or am I just getting old?) Now the water part (or should I say, the “appearance” of water). It's so life-like, I can practically feel the rain. First a quiet storm builds. Suddenly a Category 3 Hurricane! The ride is bumpy. Metal screeches (is it supposed to sound like that?).

I look at Short’s face: he alternates between having the time of his life and sheer terror. I'm relieved—no tears yet. “Mommy! Listen,” his face nothing but two giant blue orbs reflecting drops of "rain", every time here the first time.

The violent hurricane is over, now we're entering the loud wind tunnel (the sound is deafening, forcing me to contemplate ear plugs for the next adventure here). Tornado! We experience every version of the weather firsthand. I feel like we are being pushed to another dimension.

Like all wonderful amusement park rides, this one's over way too fast. Tall and Short say in unison, “Again!” and The Husband and I both laugh, because we know we'd have to wait in that long line all over again. Once I complete this ride, I don’t feel compelled to go back right away. Maybe another time.

The Husband runs his hand through his hair as if the “water” really did get him. He shakes his head, then reaches for my hand. He leans in to me and says conspiratorially, “Hon, they sure do love that, don’t they?” I nod.

Secretly, this has always been my favorite, too. (I had always hoped the boys would like this even though they were small. I used to try to take them on it, telling myself that this time would be different: please, God, no tantrums! Complete strangers loved to offer their unsolicited opinions—it might scare them, they're not old enough yet. These nosy people would stare at us, judging me for ignoring their well-intentioned warnings—it’s too loud, they’d scowl, or you’ll be sorry—it’ll just make him cry! Ha! If they could see us now. The risk has obviously paid off.)

The Husband whispers, “No one cried this time. I think they might finally be ready for Disney World. They’re old enough now, they could handle Disney, don’t you think?” He is reading my mind. 

Our car wash days are over.

MOV
(“Magical Otherworldly Vehicle”)

126. Vocabulary

Parents use a peculiar brand of vocabulary, one that is unique to their species. Try as they might to remain "hip" and "cool", they fail miserably. Whereas single people with no children have a penchant for saying things like "stay up all night" (when, in fact, they are referring to attending a really great concert and going to the after-party and hanging with the band), that identical phrase when uttered by a parent invokes unhappy images of colicky babies and projectile vomiting. Here are a few key phrases that parents say daily, and childless people never even get to say once a year:

• Get your feet off him
• The stove is on, don’t touch it again
• Do you need to poop?
• Who put my necklace under the washing machine?
• Let him get in the car first if it matters that much to him
• Do we have to cry about everything?
• His piece of cake is the EXACT same size as your piece
• Yes, the Lego-invader-tower-rescue-center-for-space you built is really cool!
• Did you just hit him on the head with that bat on purpose?
• You sit there and don’t move for 4 minutes until you can say sorry
• Why are there Rollerblades in the tub?
• No, you can’t have a sip of my wine
• Who used green magic marker on the cat?
• You must eat two bites of peas
• Do I eat peas? Uh, yes, I love all foods
• The toy store is closed on Tuesdays
• I mean Fridays
• Spit those Lego’s out right now
• Hold the railing! I said, hold the railing!
• Don’t try to trip him, that’s mean
• What if I tried to trip you?
• Don’t put any more chocolate chips in my purse—they melt
• Please stop wasting the band-aids
• Three band-aids is more than enough
• Don’t touch that! It’s dog poop
• Yes, I’m sure it’s dog poop
• I don’t have to touch it to know, I just know
• Santa knows everything
• The tooth fairy will not pay for teeth that have not been brushed on a regular basis
• Did you forget to wear underwear again?
• Don’t put tape on the cat’s feet, she doesn’t like it
• I like your pretty drawing of a bus!
• I mean house….
• Stop pouring my shampoo in the toilet!
• When you are the boss you can go to Baskin-Robbins every day for breakfast
• You may not wear your pajamas to the library
• I already know my roots are gray, you do not have to point it out

MOV ("Missing Our Vanity")