So pretty much this whole week I have spent with my ample posterior nestled squarely in the driver's seat. This would imply some sort of control, but really, it is at the whim of some higher power that seems to be in charge of my schedule. Zen attitudes about "becoming one with" aside, the seat in my minivan is becoming all too familiar a feel. There are just some things I would rather remain on less intimate terms with. Now, becoming one with my serger - that I could get into at the moment. Sewing though, is last on my list of things that I manage to get around to in the course of the day. Things like Kindergarten screening, pre-K, dinner, potty training and changing diapers seem to get in the way. Sad as it may be that bodily excretions (of persons other than myself) take precedence over all else. **sigh**
So while I am slowly losing grip on my sanity this week, my kids still manage to find humor in all situations. I submit to you the following evidence : Sadie is finding it most difficult to stay in her seat and so I made her the seatbelt monitor. The vehicle does not move until Sadie had completed the seatbelt checklist for all the occupants and then gives the all clear for take-off.
Mommy: Is Garrett strapped in?
Mommy: Is Adam strapped in?
Mommy: Is mommy strapped in?
Mommy: Is Sadie/Jasmine strapped in? (Sadie's identity crisises a topic for a future date)
At this point, Sadie is supposed to say "Mommy, you are cleared for take-off"The first time we do this - Sadie hollers "Take it off mommy!"We review the procedure and try again later.This time I get "Shut up and drive!" (I think her almost 12 year old brother had something to do with this)Today it was "just go already"
Music is my saving grace - most of the time. I have been known to load Laurie Berkner in the cd player a time or two, and I will sing "daddy's got a cow on his head" along with the best of them. Though, usually, it is all about me - at least in this arena! So I put my Queen cd in this time, inspired by their appearance on American Idol a couple weeks back. After a while, Garrett hollers from the back that he wants to hear the chicken song again. WHAT?? What chicken song? I don't remember a chicken song on the Greatest Hits album. I gamely queue up each song individually. This one? No . . . This one? No . . . This one?? YES! That's it mommy! That's the chicken song! "We are the Champions" is issuing forth from the speakers and while Freddie Mercury sings "we are the champions my friends" in his tenor, Sadie and Garrett are singing along in the back "We are the chickens, we are the chickens; no time for 'woosters' 'cuz we are the chickens - of the world!" Somewhere, good ol' Freddie is rolling over in his grave . . . somehow I don't think he wrote his music with the preschool set in mind.
Today after spending yet a third day in a row with my backside wearing a permanent groove in the van's upholstery, I find the end of errand running coinciding with the time to pick up Garrett from preschool. He climbs into the back and straps in and just as I pull away from the curb, he pulls a handful of tiny pebbles from his pocket and announces "Look mom! My pet rock had babies!" I know that grey hair does not a grandma make - but do baby rocks qualify??
***Orginally posted May 3, 2006