Busing Kids, in Sketches

He can't whinny, but he can croak!  That means he's not a little horse but very hoarse. Poor darling hubby's been sick a lot this winter.   When he coughs it's a deep, fill-your-ears-with-sound, cough.  Like I said, he's coughed so much and so hard that he's hoarse.

Little Lolly on the bus told him today, "We want your voice right.  You need to fix it. When you talk over the radio to us to sit down, you squawk."

LOL, that's firecracker Lolly.

After one of his morning runs, Darling Hubby handed me an index card explaining, "The kids are singing this silly song."  He grins and laughs, "And Corey wrote it down for me." 

When he sung it to me it almost sounds like the chorus to 7 Little Girls who sing these lyrics, "Keep your mind on your driving, keep your hand on the wheel, keep your Snoopy eyes on the road ahead."

Here's what the bus kids sang,

"Park your rear in your seat.

Park your rear in your seat

And we will head home."

I laughed.  "Where'd they get that, John?"

DH said, "Our bus is the 4th bus in line of about 20, if we stall we hold 'em all back. So, I grab the mic and tell them,

"Put your butts in the seat.  We got TO ROLL!"

"John," I laughed and exclaimed, "you don't really say butts, do you?" 

"Yes, I do!"

One work day last week, actually Friday, Darling Hubby John missed.

And when he realized the other bus driver whose name is also John was going to take his run, he was jealous.  I'd never seen him jealous before, LOL.

The next time he ran into John II, John II said, "You have good kids!"

So, my John took them candy canes on a non-treat day, told his kids thank you for behaving themselves and for getting a good report.

"And then" Remember that song by The Coasters, Along Came Jones? 

"And the-en..."

Then, the transportation head came up to DH and said one of the girls' fathers has a complaint about Friday's run!  

"You'll be getting a call."  LOL

Let me set the scene.

John the bus driver is behind the wheel.

They're driving in the fog heading for school.

Up from the back comes Lolly.

She's been on the bus 10 minutes.

".....Ble-eck," heave, gasp, "ble-eck,  ble-eck!"

She's trying to puke.

He hands her a puke bag.

She says, "I have a fever of 99.3 but my grandma says I have to go because it's ISTEP."  ".....Ble-eck," heave, gasp,  "ble-eck,  ble-eck!"

DH says she puts on shows, that she's a drama queen, and when she didn't get enough reaction from everyone she just sat in her seat.  

The proof was in her final cry, "Somebody on this bus made me sick!"

"She'll fit!"

It was a beautiful building!  Tall spires in the back with red arches and crosses atop, right angled peaks, shorter blue spires in front with crosses atop, clocks in the towers -- all set in mature evergreens as tall as the front steeples with a slight knoll in forefront and gentle blue clouds as background giving a restful feeling to the whole scene.

While I was sorting through a stack of miscellaneous papers I caught a glimpse of this ornate church.  It was the front cover of a paper pocket folder darling hubby and sons brought home after an afternoon out.  It was a packet full of literature that stated "Your choice for a simple sacred way."  Okay, that was nice.

I'd stayed home feeling a bit under the weather.
They'd went to the Indianpolis Home Show.  It's a big building with exhibitors and booths promoting anything from flowers to roofing to cabinetry to recreational vehicles.

When they came busting through the front doors, they were all excited, everyone talking at once, bounding through the house, one to the bathroom, one to the refrigerator (just like a teenage boy, right?) and one to the kitchen closet.  Hummm, that last one was interesting, not much in there except cans of paint, garden supplies and my tool box.

Then they all laughed and giggled in conspiracy (yes, boys can giggle) but I temporarily ignored them because I had questions.  I'm always curious as to what was their favorite thing, did they get something to eat and bring me a treat, would they like to go again, did they get along, any trouble with traffic, etc.  I'm always full of questions so that's what I was doing when it happened.

I got measured.

One boy asked, "How tall are you, Mom?"  I was distracted, didn't pay attention.
Another one chuckled.

Third boy comes up to me and stretches out the tape measure.  Now my antennae start to rise.  What are these munchkins doing?  Somethings up.

"I'm 5 foot 3 and a half, why?"

"She'll fit."  And they laughed heartily.

"Here, Mom," and they handed me this pocket folder with the Abbey on front, "they're having a sale.  You can choose whichever one you want."

Durn their little hides.  They'd just measured me for an Abbey Casket!

"I'll Try To Act Natural."

Good morning, it's snowing.  Again!

I almost couldn't tell, I didn't have my contacts in my eyes, and I wasn't wearing my old prescription glasses, so my sight was out of focus.

You've probably been there.  Since 30 million Americans wear contacts, and since you've had occasion to have blurry vision for one reason or another, you can understand the it, right?

Well, that got me to thinking about contacts.  Back in the late 60's when I was a young chick, I wanted contacts.  It was a vain thing.  I admit it.  I wanted them for looks.

Most everyone supported me.  Some had advice.  Aunt Bertha said, "Don't do like other people I've seen where they hold their chin up and look down at you and blink a lot."
I laughed, "Okay, Aunt Bert, I'll try to act natural."  And I did.

Those things, now remember the year, those things were hard.  It was like somebody cut a dime sized circle out of plexiglas and said, "Here.  Stick that in your eye!"  You see, these weren't soft lenses, nor were they the gas-permeables, these were flower-power-hippy days.  You'd blink a zillion times, too, until your eye developed a hardened rim to be able to bear them.

Yep, after 2 weeks of increased daily usage, you no longer thought about 'em.  Well...not until the day one dried out and you couldn't find it.  I was at my first real job, in the restroom, trying to put a drop of solution on it while it was resting on the tip of my finger when it got over-weighted and fell.  Shoot!  Where'd it go?  I looked under the underside of my hand, down the front of my outfit, all over the floor, and was just about to ask for help (because I was now blind in one eye) when I spied it.  Suctioned to the floor length mirror it was!!!!

"You onery thing, you mirror, what are you doing hanging on to my contact?  Wanted to double check your vision 'cause you couldn't believe I was Snow White?"  LOL.

The first time I lost one, I did ask for help.  Mom said, "Let me go get a flashlight."  She was a smart lady, because there it was glistening in the beams.  The other lens I lost in that same bathroom was never found.  Maybe I'd better correct that.  It was found 4 years later when they remodeled the bathroom, snug as a bug in the rug.

Mercy, but you didn't want to lose one.  Those things were expensive.  And if you lost one, there wasn't another for replacement, not until you went to the doctor and begged.  Begging ensued because they always wanted you to get an current exam as well.

Back then if you came into a room and there were people crawling around on the floor, using spy glasses and flashlights, they weren't playing a party game, or imitating the dog, they were hunting sister's contact lens!

Oh, oh, oh, and color was better.  Get brown to match your eyes?  Shoot, no!  Get green so it'd show up on the floor or the top of your shoe, silly.

Let me digress here.  I'm from a family of 8, 2 sisters, 3 brothers, a mom, and a dad.  Dad came with habits acquired from not only being in the army but also being raised with 14 brothers and sisters.  One thing he always did, and I never knew why, was to grab a clean glass out of the cupboard, swish it under the faucet of running water twice, then fill it to take a drink.

A beautiful, sunshiny week in August found us all going on vacation.  I'd forgotten my contact case.  No worry.  Put some water in the bottom of the motel provided plastic cup and voila' a makeshift contact holder.  Crawl into bed.  Next morning?    No contact to be found.  Cup's upside down.

What the heck?   Where's my contact?  DAD!  "Da-a-a-a-a-ad!!!!!!"  That was one blurred out vacation; period.

And this is the last, I promise, it's a stunner.  Newly married.  Darling hubby and I are playing with rambunctious firstborn son on the blue couch in our first 2 bedroom home with bright yellow wallpapered kitchen.  Son is bare-chested, giggling, and has just learned to run; he's been walking, but now he runs.   He runs all around the house, through the first bedroom, into the bathroom, through the second bedroom and back to us.  What fun!  He had infectious giggles.

Contact pops out.  Darling hubby and I do the usual, hold your spot, grab some light, start from top, check all surfaces to the bottom.  Okay, it's not on me, it's not on the carpet at the feet, time to check the couch.  Check darling hubby, too, since we were horse-playing, check the baby.  No contact.  What on earth?  It couldn't have gone far.  There's no cosmic hole of vaporization into which it could vanish.

Wait.  New thought.  Grab the baby again.  This time, check the diaper.  Back side, center spine, seam edge, there it was -- caught.  Shew!  Disaster averted.  Since the diaper was clean, it was a double disaster averted!  Get my drift?

If you hear the cry, "Don't move!"  and see search lights on the ceiling, you know someone in the house has lost a contact.  Grab an extra person, a flashlight, and for heaven's sake, "Stand still!"

"PUT THE GUN DOWN!"

When I was blue,

Didn't know what to do,

Hubby said, "Gun show!"

And wouldn't you know

I might be a sharp shooter.

Good 'nuff t'make men hooter!

So a beretta and a bearcat,

Not animals you'd pet,

Are my handguns - my fav!

Never use in a handwave,

Clerks collapse, they hide,

Best keep ’em at my side.

You're probably thinking there's a story here.  You're right!

It started with a bb gun pistol.  Darling hubby purchased my first at K-Mart.  It was fantastic.  I could shoot nasty birds out of the trees, and house chewing chipmunks scuttling along the foundation, and any little red pickup traveling north.  Well, ut-hum, that last one was an accident.

Let me ease your tender heart.  I don't shoot cardinals, turtle doves, or house wrens.  I shoot those rasping sharp horrible sounding birds that eat the eggs of my smaller birds.  Then, very respectfully, Ian buries them.

As for the chipmunks, they've been stockpiling walnuts in the wall between the house and garage.  If they'd have stayed in the trees jumping from limb to gutter and back, they could've survived, but once they started coming indoors, they had to go.  Yes, they were first given warning shots!

And, the um, well...the red pickup truck was an accident. I never in a million years thought a bb could go 200 feet!  At that time I never  thought I was capable of hitting a moving target.  When that bb made a "ping" sound, I knew I'd done something, I knew I'd made contact...ut-oh! 

Jumping ahead to after mother died, when I was blue, DH decided to help by sparking my interest in target shooting with him, and our boys and the Deacon.  We went to Gander Mountain,  Crack Shot, and Bare Arms.  

At the Tipton Gun Show I went around handling various pistols.  

Sellers wanted to know, "What price range?"  "What feature?"  "What'll you use it for?"  "Any particular gauge or style?"

Finally, I chose the one that fit the palm of my hand, a black sleek beretta.  Nice.  Two magazines.  10 bullets each.  Easy handling.  Nice.

Secretly, though, I was hoping for an Annie Oakley revolver; now SHE was a sharp shooter!  At age 5 she kept the family fed, and as an adult won rodeo shooting contests.  What a gal!

Ended up at Wyatt's Sports.  They had a lovely pink revolver.  Yep.  Just what I wanted.  At the display case, Mr. Wyatt kindly unlocked the back glass and handed me a Ruger Bearcat.

Single action.  .22 caliber.  6-round.  Compact.  Nice.  

I was a novice.  I turned to the left (handgun in right palm), opened my mouth to say something to DH, noticed his eyes were big, he was ready to gasp actually, but instead said very firmly, "Put the gun down.  You don't want to do that."  

What????

What was I doing wrong?

I looked back, and (like I said, I was a novice) I looked at my hand and I'd let my arm extend out, and the gun was weighing heavy in my hand, which was holding the revolver off kilter, kind of sideways, pointing toward the back of the store.

Take a breath here.

There were other clerks in this small 20 x 20 foot room; adult men were behind glass counters.  The counters were full of guns.  There were a couple of other big guys checking out available ammo, some other weaponry like bows, and other accessories.

Wyatt's face was grave. In my peripheral vision, beyond the camo-clothes racks the customers were dropping, on the far side of the counters the clerks were ducking.

"Pamela, put the gun down."

When I finally connected what was being said with what my gun holding hand was doing (waving the pink lady about) and what they were doing, it was embarrassing, later it was funny.  At that moment, it was embarrassing. 

Shoot!  It was time to duck out of there.  Run.

Rattled by Comedians In Cars

In the early days of raising a family, “I was rattled!”  That’s right, “I was rattled!”

It came out of nowhere; this blue handled, plastic, toy with a bulbous rounded end rattled me!  It hit the back of my head with a ping and a clink.

That wasn’t the only thing to come flying up.

Try driving along with kids in the back,  some in booster seats, some in car seats, and others just regular seat belt buckled when "Wham!"  "What was THAT?"

Baby bottles.  You’ve never been a mother until you’ve been nearly hit with a baby bottle.  It thunks pretty well on a windshield.  The kid in back goes stock still at the unexpected sound, not knowing whether to thoroughly enjoy his victory or be scared of  return fire, “WHO DUNNIT?”

Oh, the things that can fly!   Books, pillows, and hand fans.   Legos, mega blocks, any toy will do.   Sippy cups, socks, even your brother’s shoe!   Never fear Fisher Price farm toys like pigs, can fly, too! 

Ever hear of projectile vomiting?  I hadn’t either until the second child was born handicapped.  There was no getting him to the stool in time, nor could you predict and have a trashcan ready, but, let me tell you, he could let fly with the best of ‘em.

I know why Mom and Dad liked their station wagon with the three rows of seats.  Because the last row was rear facing!

A cry of “he ate all the pretzels, he’s not sharing“ or “he’s spitting on the window” would never get to the front seats.  Now, if you’re driving along on the interstate and look left at the car passing you, and they’re looking back at you with wild eyes which ratchet from you to the rear of your car and back to you, you’d better investigate.  

Someone might be mooning.  No, not swooning, not crooning, I typed that right, moo-ooon-ing.

 You’ve heard of that show on Netflix titled “Comedians In Cars Getting Coffee” well, we’ve got “Comedians in Cars Getting Conked”

First Comedian:  “He ate the last of my sandwich.”

Exasperated Mom:  “How on earth could HE eat the last of YOUR sandwich?”

Second Comedian:  “He stuck his hand in my face and wouldn’t move it, so…I ate it!”

Exasperated Mom:  “Was there blood?  If there wasn’t blood, no one’s hurt!”

Comedians In Cars can sing in rounds.  They love to do this.  No, not to irritate the mother, but to irritate the song starter.  It’s in the genes.  And, let me tell you, it’s not melodious.

Comedians In Cars, though strapped into car seats, can open car doors and giggle.

Comedians in Cars throw things out the window to see where they go and just what course they take before landing.  Hopefully on pavement and not on the car following you.

Comedians in Cars spit on windows then draw in the spittle.

Comedians in Cars hit themselves then pesticatingly wolf cry, “Stop it.  Quit hitting me.”

Oh yes, dear hubby, you want to drive eight hours to see your parents this summer?

Just conk me in the back of the head, rattle me good, maybe I can enjoy this trip in a concussed coma.

Ah, the dreamy state of sleep’s arrival.   In my dreamy state I'm doubting my vision.  With one eye squinting I see the last bit of someone’s lunchmeat sandwich hurling into space; I see it separate like a NASA rocket into three pieces -- the lettuce, the meat, and the bread -- and hit the dashboard!

More of Kids On The Bus!

"The world according to kids is hilarious.  Wished it worked that way!"

DH, darling hubby, who is a bus driver to 44 primary and elementary kids said that to me last week.  Some kids names never come up, and some names I hear quite frequently.  I feel I'm getting to know the frequent ones through osmosis, LOL.

Today, darling hubby had to switch busses.  You know those idiot lights, aka check engine lights, that come on on the dash?  When it comes to government issued equipment they have to be checked out.

So this new-to-him, old school bus is what he calls a transit bus, not the conventional type.  On this one the lights went out on his dash and it took a while for him to figure out how to get them working again.  His assigned bus is all computerized, push button.

This old bus, you and I can relate to.  It has an old heater under the rear seat.  You know the kind, boxy, metal covered, painted green;  sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't.

Little Lisa flung her coat on top of the old heater.  It promptly got sucked in and stuck in the fan.  All upset she began squealing, "I broke the bus!"

DH tells her with a wink, "Lisa you're breaking my buses faster than the mechanics can fix 'em!"

Then there's the "class clown" Jason.  When Jason got on the bus he was pinching his fingers and thumb together making pinches like a bird pecking at seeds in the air, "Flertie, flertie, flertie, flertie, flertie."  He gets close to DH and lightly pretend pinches his jacket, "Flertie," he says again.

DH, "Jason, what are you doing?"
Jason, "I'm flirting with you."

DH chuckles, "Jason, go sit down."

And we have Ethan.  Ethan lives with just his godmother.  Ethan wants more than his share of the candy canes which DH offers to the kids on Fridays after school.  It's kind of a bribe for them to behave next week.

All kids love sweets.  All kids want more than one.  Ethan wanted four.  He asked, "Can I have 3 more.  For my sisters, ssss."  DH asked, "Sisters, ssss?"

Ethan replied affirmatively, "Yes, sisters, ssss."

Laughing DH admonished, "Ethan, you may have one for you and one for your godmother."

Ethan reached in, took two.  Then, he reached in again and took 2 more.  DH looks at me with a twinkle, knowing the boy had tried snookering him, "I guess in his world he has 3 sisters, ssss!"  Hilarious how that works!

Kids On The Bus, "Little Hearts"

Darling Hubby John calls the kids on his new bus, “little hearts”.   I knew he was more friend than father to our boys, but I didn’t know just how much he loved having children until he retired from his warehouse job.

Darling Hubby has posted at the front of his long yellow bus three rules -- Be Respectful to the Bus Driver, Remain Seated, and Use Quiet Voices.  You’ll remember these because I'm going to tell you about Colbert.

Since Darling Hubby had had a bad backache on Monday, he missed work so the children had a substitute bus driver.  The new driver, also named John, was 20 minutes late.  Alice told hime so, she wasn’t happy.

Colbert, another young rider, told Darling Hubby the rest of the story.

He stood at the top of the steps, using his excited voice.

“We’re glad you’re back.   The other John just yells at us all the time.  He yells on his microphone to “SIT DOWN!”

“And Donny kept spitting.  And T.J. yelled a lot.  And Alice wouldn’t sit down.”

Now, I’ve got to tell you that there are 4 older boys who are in charge of the emergency back door and that there are 2 boxes of lost and found sweaters with gloves resting under the back seat.   One of the boxes also holds a wind-up rubber black spider.

So, Colbert’s telling Darling Hubby,  “Your boys in the back got the big spider out and made the girls scream.  The girls go nuts!  It’s just too noisy.  It’s just too crazy back there!  I’m glad you’re back.“

Want to hear about Little Tyke?  On Hubby’s route he has a preschooler, who doesn’t like being separated from the rest of the boys.   Little Tyke’s separated because state law says at his age he has to be secured in a booster seat.  It’s sure aggravating this very energetic boy.  

Like yesterday, he was aggravated at his friend who wouldn’t let him finish a game on his Kindle, so he started spitting.  Another time he pulled out all his shoelaces.  Some days when he’s really frustrated his boots come off and get flung up and over his head into the seat behind him!   Can’t you just imagine a tiny preschooler trying to exert control over his space; you’ve got to smile knowing he’s a fizzling fireball with very little impact.

Darling Hubby also has a boy named Parker, actually he’s the oldest boy on the bus, and he was upset at not being chosen to be a keeper of the back door. Hubby told him he needed to act more responsible like the other older boys.  So, Parker decided to prove himself and volunteered to take care of the blind girl!   

Those acts just makes the heart more endeared to the little ones, right?  

They came on the bus at Christmastime, the most rambunctious of them, and gave Darling Hubby homemade cookies; delicious, even though the icing has smeared into unrecognizable designs.  They handed him notes from their mothers thanking him, with enclosed gift cards.  Others gave him small wrapped presents (including sneezing fits and seven day colds, ugh).

All those antics keep Darling John in love with his “little hearts”.

Oh, oh, oh, I must tell you before signing off, the story that jolts Darling Hubby John the most.  This will make you burst out laughing.

Primary girl, Lucy, was chewing on a red-hot fireball.  She came up to the trashcan, spit in it with gusto, and with a “Whoosh-thunk” said, “That was hot!”  Then quickly turned to John, head on, face-to-face, opened her mouth and blew out her breath, “Here!  Wanna smell?”