So I did what I had threatened, and showed up at Abby's dance studio, Billy Ocean blaring. Singing, feeling the stress leave my body in waves of 80's memories, I was starting to relax from my crazy day.
My dancing girl plopped herself in the front seat, and began unplugging my iPod.
"Hands off," I said, "I want to hear this song. Because I really did.
"Moooooooom," she said. "I just don't feel like sixties music."
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Get Outta My Dreams. . .
HEY (hey) YOU (you)
Get into my car!
Who me? Yes you!
Get into my car!
I can't get this fantastic Billy Ocean song out of my head. Usually that happens when I see my cousin Julie and we've spent some time looking back on our trip to Europe when we were 16, but that's another story, one that also touches on the song "Obsession" and me wearing some bad striped overalls.
But I haven't talked to Julie today. No, this verse is ringing in my head after hours and hours of driving loops around my town dropping off and picking up children at their various activities, because it's what I want to yell from the parking lots. The baseball field parking lot, the acting studio lot, the church lot, the dance lot. . . "HEY, YOU! GET INTO MY CAR!"
There's a lot of driving this year. To be clear, we are close to attaining another driver in the family,which will, at some point, alleviate some rounds of this hamster-wheel-like-circle that I can't seem to get off between the hours of 3:00-6:00 PM on any given day. This, of course, depends upon my future willingness to allow my son to drive in snow, rain, sleet, sun, cold weather, with a cold, fog, or if the day just feels generally indisposed to teen driving.
I'm trying to drive with joy, with a positive attitude, with the intent to spend quality time with whomever happens to be next to me in the seat. Abby wants McDonalds? Sure, here's a Snack Wrap and how was school? Sam wants Dairy Queen on the way to baseball drop off? Sure. Here's a small cherry-dip cone, and now WHY do I have a cone with sprinkles that I'm trying to balance while driving. Not to mention sprinkles on my white shirt. Sam, that was not a good idea. Don't make me order a cone again. Bad Sam.
I am, as I wrap this up, off to pick up Abby at dance. She will, without question, get into my car and begin playing her iPod through my speakers. Tonight, there will be a different rule. My car. My iPod. My Billy Ocean song. Her eyes will roll, but I will sing (yell?) HEY (hey) YOU (you)! GET INTO MY CAR!
And I will do it with the windows down right in the dance parking lot. Funny, I'm suddenly looking forward to the ride.
Get into my car!
Who me? Yes you!
Get into my car!
I can't get this fantastic Billy Ocean song out of my head. Usually that happens when I see my cousin Julie and we've spent some time looking back on our trip to Europe when we were 16, but that's another story, one that also touches on the song "Obsession" and me wearing some bad striped overalls.
But I haven't talked to Julie today. No, this verse is ringing in my head after hours and hours of driving loops around my town dropping off and picking up children at their various activities, because it's what I want to yell from the parking lots. The baseball field parking lot, the acting studio lot, the church lot, the dance lot. . . "HEY, YOU! GET INTO MY CAR!"
There's a lot of driving this year. To be clear, we are close to attaining another driver in the family,which will, at some point, alleviate some rounds of this hamster-wheel-like-circle that I can't seem to get off between the hours of 3:00-6:00 PM on any given day. This, of course, depends upon my future willingness to allow my son to drive in snow, rain, sleet, sun, cold weather, with a cold, fog, or if the day just feels generally indisposed to teen driving.
I'm trying to drive with joy, with a positive attitude, with the intent to spend quality time with whomever happens to be next to me in the seat. Abby wants McDonalds? Sure, here's a Snack Wrap and how was school? Sam wants Dairy Queen on the way to baseball drop off? Sure. Here's a small cherry-dip cone, and now WHY do I have a cone with sprinkles that I'm trying to balance while driving. Not to mention sprinkles on my white shirt. Sam, that was not a good idea. Don't make me order a cone again. Bad Sam.
I am, as I wrap this up, off to pick up Abby at dance. She will, without question, get into my car and begin playing her iPod through my speakers. Tonight, there will be a different rule. My car. My iPod. My Billy Ocean song. Her eyes will roll, but I will sing (yell?) HEY (hey) YOU (you)! GET INTO MY CAR!
And I will do it with the windows down right in the dance parking lot. Funny, I'm suddenly looking forward to the ride.
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