So, Jono's H1N1, Halloween, and Abby's birthday totally got the best of me and the blogosphere, but I say, good morning to you! It's a cold, November morning, and I know this because I just got back from driving my two big kids to the bus stop.This was unexpected.
This is Adam's job. He was out of town for several days, so for most of this week, I got up with the two oldest kids and got them to the bus stop, which happens to be veeeerrrryyyy far away from our house, and on dark, cold mornings, I am generally opposed to allowing them to walk. Even though they probably could.
Adam returned last night from sunny Las Vegas, and even though I know he spent most of his time wandering trade shows and in meetings, I prefer to call it "sunny Las Vegas" and imply that he was lounging by the pool. I just assumed that he would rise-and-shine with Abby and Jono this morning, as per usual, and drop them at the bus stop on the way to work. So last night, I settled into bed knowing I could sleep until a blissful 7:45 am. It's been a busy week. And then, from the other side of the bed, I hear this. "Gotta go in early tomorrow."
"Early? Can you get the kids?"
"I can get them up."
"Can you take them to the bus?"
"Probably not."
I re-set my alarm.
"Christy, they can walk to the bus-stop. It's fine."
"It's too dark. I will take them. It's fine." It was not fine, but I am excellent at hiding my feelings.
So, this morning, at about 6:30, Abby starts her yelling. MOM MOM MOM MOM. I hear you, sister. I'm coming. The bus, however, isn't coming for 20 minutes. I take my time getting downstairs. I throw on the world's ugliest fuzzy slipper mocs, and a fleece. My hair is lovely.
"Let's roll, Chafes."
Heading through the laundry room, I see Jono's full hamper by the washing machine.
"I see you left me a gift today," I say.
"I wanted you to have something to do," he retorts.
"That's sweet."
"I know."
"I think I'll just teach you how to do your laundry."
"I like the way you do it."
"Not true. When I do it, you say, 'I have no where to put all this clean laundry.' When I don't do it, you complain about no having clean underwear."
"That's true," he admits, "or I wear the same pants for four days."
"Or you wear basketball shorts for underwear." Jono cracks up.
"You wear basketball shorts for underwear?" cries Abby! "When I see you in the morning in basketball shorts is that underwear?"
"Why are you looking at me in the morning? Perv."
Abby in the back, Jono in the front, we get into the cold van and head to the end of the street where we park and wait for the bus.
Abby touches the handle of the back door and Jono yells.
"DON'T GET OUT YET, DEEB!" That's his name for her; we don't know why. I'm sure it's horrible.
"I'm not! Geez!"
"Settle down, Jono. One of you can get out, one can stay in. Whatever."
"Mr. Handley (name changed for protection) won't recognize you anyway," says Abby.
They both crack up.
"What's that about?" I ask.
Apparently, they explain, yesterday the bus driver asked Jono who he was, where he lived, and if he had ever ridden the bus before. He's been riding the same bus for four years. And, Mr. Handley knows Adam. I guess it's not really a case of "who you know."
This cracks me up.
Jono continues. "He only drives a bus because he was bored in his retirement. Now he's bored and pissed off. He could have been sleeping late and pissed off. Now he gets up at 5:00 am to drive kids around and be pissed off."
"Kill him with kindness, Jono. Get on the bus and say, 'Good Morning, Mr. Handley' every day."
"We should get out," says my back-seat passenger. There is a group of kids assembled at the bus stop, but no bus in sight, yet.
"Frick, no. I'm staying where it's warm." I shoot him a look. But I'm trying not to laugh. Frick?
"Jono, watch it."
"Aren't you glad I used SOME decorum?"
In the distance, there are blinking lights, and quick as one of those blinks, my big kids are out of there seats and running to meet the bus. I wonder if the bus driver recognizes them?
I'm going to guess, frick no.
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