Larry the Cucumber Can Suck It!

Since we've moved, I spend a lot of time in the car with the kids.  We have a half an hour to daycare in the morning and 40 minutes or more from daycare to home at night.  This will all end come September 4th when Ainsley goes to Kindergarten and Freddie starts at a new daycare near our house.

That hour and 10 minutes of every day are some of the funniest, most exhausting, most annoying, sweetest times.  And seriously, I can experience all those emotions in the same trip.  So I thought I'd give you a little glimpse.  Since traffic was horrid yesterday (thank you fender bender on 66) I was sitting for a long time and was able to take notes on my phone.

Note: for the purposes of this story "Pfhh" will represent the sound of Freddie making short, quick, raspberries in the air.

Radio: Veggie Tales, Veggie Tales...
Freddie: Mommy, cose ya'eyes.
Me: I can't close my eyes, Freddie.  I'm driving.
Freddie: Jut do it.
Me: Freddie I can't...
Ainsley: Look Freddie, my eyes are closed.
Me: Thank you Ainsley.

Freddie pushes the button on his cup which pops open the lid to reveal the straw and he screams "SUPIZE!!!!"
Ainsley puts on her best excited face for him.  Such a good big sister.

Radio: We hope you enjoy (blah, blah, blah, blah)...as we bring you the story of Pistachio (really it's the story of Pinocchio, told Veggie Tale style)...I'm Larry the Cucumber...
Freddie: NO Stasho!!! Ah her Fweddie song.
Me: It's Ainsley's turn Freddie, we'll listen to Pistachio and then switch to your songs.
Freddie: NOOOOOoooooo! (fake cry...oh yeah, he goes there)
Me: Ainsley, do you care if we listen to Freddie's songs for a bit.
Ainsley: Sure Mommy, I am going to practice my ballet.
Me: Okay

I switch the CDs.

Radio: Who goes around the place and makes a silly face, I bet you know, it's Freddie.

I look in the rear view mirror and see Freddie beebopping to the tunes.

Ainsley: (singing) I'm a butterfly that is...
Freddie: Pfhh, Pfhh, Pfhh, Pfhh...
Ainsley: Stop it Freddie.  (singing) On Christmas Eve, I am a happy child.  Santa Clause is coming to town...
Freddie: Pfhh, Pfhh, Pfhh, Pfhh...
Ainsley: Freddie!!  Stop it! (singing) Santa Clause is siiilly.  You can't wait to hear what he done...
Freddie: Pfhh, Pfhh, Pfhh, Pfhh...
Ainsley: FREDDIE!! 
Me: Stop yelling.
Ainsley: But Mommy, I am trying to practice my ballet and he is spitting in my class.  There is no spitting in my class.
Freddie: Pfhh, Pfhh, Pfhh, Pfhh...
Me: Ainsley, he's not spitting.
Ainsley: But I don't like him doing that in my class.
Freddie: Pfhh, Pfhh, Pfhh, Pfhh...
Me: Well then he's not in your class.  Just ignore him or learn to deal with it
Radio: I sure do like fishin', but I don't like the worms.  They're wigggggly, jigggggly, all together squiggggly...
Freddie: Pfhh, Pfhh, Pfhh, Pfhh...
Ainsley: (singing) I know what he du-uh-uhn.  He said Liddy, hiddy, bitty, pitty hid. A kid that is small, then tiny.  That a grown up hold her like this (arms crossed like holding baby).  Santa Clause is so silly at times...
Freddie: Aidey!  Top sinin.  My song!
Me: Freddie, if you're going to make weird noises, Ainsley can sing.  Stop yelling!
Ainsley: (singing) But the ballerina is at the gala, at the gala.  You can't wait for Christmas.  Christmas.  Christmas.  Christmas.  Christmas.  You get presents on Christmas!
Freddie: (clapping) Yay Aidey!!!!
Ainsley: No Freddie, you can't clap for me because you are not in my class because you were spitting.

Freddie: Mommy yook!  Choo Choo twain!  ( it's the metro train)  Aidey, yook, yook!  Chugga chugga too too!
Ainsley: Yeah Freddie!  Choo Choo train!
Freddie: Mommy, my ride dat choo choo twain?
Me: Yes, Freddie, one day we'll ride it.
Freddie: (mumbling to self) Yeah, my ride choo choo twain, one day, baybe (maybe).
Me: Look Freddie, there's another one.
Freddie: Mommy, twain station.  People wakin to cars.  Mommy, I go over der?
Me: Where?
Freddie: Over der!
Me: Where? To the station.
Freddie: Yeah!
Me: Not today, Freddie.
Freddie: Why?
Ainsley: Mommy, I'm hungry.
Me: We'll be home soon, Ainsley.  You can have a snack.
Freddie: My have nack?
Me: Yes, Freddie, you can have a snack too.
Ainsley: (groans) This drive is possibly taking forever!
Me: Sorry bug, there's lots of traffic today.
Ainsley: Just go cars!
Freddie: Go Mommy!
Me: I can't go Freddie, there are cars in front of me.
Freddie: Why?

Notice that I just ignore the whys now.  Really, he just likes to hear himself say it.

Freddie: Bye, bye choo choo twain, see ya'yater.
Ainsley: Bye train.  See you tomorrow!
Freddie: Mommy, Aidey turn.  Her stasho!

I change the CD, back to Veggie Tales.

Radio: Veggie Tales, Veggie Tales, Veggie Tales.  It's time for Veggie ta - aya - aya - ayales...

And on to the story of Pistachio...again...

According to Ainsley #8 - Twaffic!

We live outside of DC.  Traffic?  Is not an annoyance - though it is annoying - it is a way of life.  Ainsley has learned this in the 5 months we've lived here.  Mommy, does not deal well with traffic.  Mommy may have a touch of the road rage.

So tonight, after picking them up from daycare we are greeted with the longest line of traffic I have ever seen on the road leading to the house.

"Mommy!  What is that?" Ainsley says, shock oozing out of her mouth.
"That Ainsley," I answer, "Is really bad traffic."
"Oh no.  I hate twaffic," she sighs dramatically.
"Yes Ainsley," I sigh, mirroring her drama, "I hate traffic too."

I finally manage to squeeze in between a commuter bus and a dump truck.

"Go cars, go!" Ainsley yells.
"Mommy, they are not listening to me."
I look back and smile at her, "I know Ainsley, they never do."

At that point a fire truck screams by.  As the air settles, Ainsley takes a deep breath and says "What...the... HELL was that?!"

I laugh, I can't help it.

"Ainsley?  Did you just say What the hell?"

She nods.

"Well, you know that's not a very nice thing to say?"
"I know mommy, but what the hell is with this twaffic?"

I'm linking up with Rebecca over at Musings of a Manic Mama on Friday.  Go check out her blog...

Morning Peace

I buckle my seat belt and back slowly out of the driveway.  All the cars parked along the street make an oncoming vehicle difficult to notice.  I've been honked at before. 

I safely bounce into the street and head towards the main road.  I sigh and think about the children I just left behind.  They cry every day.  I know they stop the moment I'm out of sight, but it's hard to leave them teary eyed and begging for my return.

I know it will be a bad commute.  The rain is starting and I'm running a bit late.  I stop at a light and lean back on the headrest.

I'm so tired.  I close my eyes.  Freddie has not been sleeping well.  The molars are killing him.  I didn't even have time to shower this morning.  Hope no one notices.  And Ainsley?  She hates mornings.  Getting her up can be like wrestling...

The horn from the car behind me yanks me from my thoughts.  The light is green and now I'm holding up traffic.

The rain is coming down hard as I pull on to the main drag.  I am immediately met with brake lights.  I feel my blood start to boil.  I could have never imagined it would be this bad.  And then it begins, the crawl, the start/stop, the aggressiveness, the irritation.  And it will continue all the way into DC.

I hate begining my morning this way.  I'm angry and annoyed.  Irritated that I have to drop off crying children in order to sit through this misery.  I despise the other drivers.  They are all out to get me, all destined to be in my way.  Just drive!  I think with each passing moment.

The clock ticks closer and closer to eight, so I make the dreaded call.  I'll be late I record onto the voicemail.  Traffic is horrible I spit out.  I'll be in as soon as I can I say just before hanging up.

I continue on my slated path, no where else to go, no where else to turn, just trapped in this long snaking line of red brake lights glaring through the heavy rain.  Red lights...they're so harsh.  I wonder if it's actually the color that projects that feeling, or if the feeling of sitting behind so many red lights has altered the color's hue.  This is what you think about in traffic.

I finally see the flashing lights ahead.  An accident.  I'm sorry to say that my first thought is Well, at least there's an end in sight.

I inch slowly past the fender bender on my left shutting down that lane.  It makes me even more annoyed.  I'm able to speed up the approaching hill only to be met by another stop light.

But as I sit at the top of this peak, I see it.  My favorite part of the commute.  The Arlington skyline is visible and clear.  The buildings pierce through the gray sky at different heights and shapes.  And then as I proceed through the light the sky clears for just a moment and the sun peaks through the shredded cloud.  The light reflects off the mirrored windows of the building, and for a small second I smile and enjoy the beauty of the urban artwork. 

The skyline disappears quickly behind the rooftops and before I know it I am submerged back into the sea of red brake lights and swishing wipers.  I am again surrounded by the gray and misery of this commute, but for a moment there was peace.

I'm writing this post in response to a prompt at The Red Dress Club: This week we asked you to write a piece about something ugly - and finding the beauty in it.

The Best Part of My Day

My commute to work in the morning is long, but my commute home always seems much longer.  I find myself racing the clock...can I get there quicker today than I did yesterday?  If I make these lights I'll beat my best time.  Maybe there's a shorter route, a quicker cut-through, a less traveled path.  I'm always trying new roads, new ways, new directions all to get to the same place.

In the evening the radio station is replaying the exact same talk show I listened to that morning, so normally it's just background noise that fills the silent air.  My mind wanders to chores that need to be done that night, what I'm making for dinner, bills that need to be paid, things that need to be done in the Richmond house...but mostly I think about them.  I think about the moment that I see them.  It's always the best part of my day.

Ainsley will be telling her teachers stories of our plans for the night.  She'll go into great detail about visiting aunts and uncles or dance class or going to Richmond.  Freddie will be with a toy.  Pushing it, shaking it, pounding it or whatever is most fun and loud to do with that particular toy.  Then they'll see me and they'll drop whatever they're doing and make their way to me.

Those thoughts push me to get there sooner.  They're the reason I hate the traffic and curse the other drivers.  My life with them is crazy and hectic and forever on the move...but any time I spend away from them, I spend missing them.

I park along the curb and walk up the driveway to the large house on the corner.  This is where they spend most of their day.  I let myself in and slip off my shoes...no shoes allowed in the daycare portion of the house.

I walk down the stairs and I hear them before I see them.  They are happy, I hear it in their voices and laughter.  I emerge into the spacious basement.

Hi Ainsley!


MOMMY!!!!


She runs to me and wraps her thin arms around my upper thighs.

Did you have a good day? I ask.

By this time Freddie hears my voice and he is squealing like we rarely hear him laugh.  He toddles toward me, faster every day.

Hi Freddie! I say as I scoop him up and give his soft, squishy cheek a big kiss.  He giggles and wraps his chubby arms tightly around my neck.

The three of us are one giant hug of laughter and love.  Yes, this is definitely the best part of my day.

African Tribal Momma

Last summer I started watching a movie.  I never finished it, though I intended to.  It was called Babies and it follows the first year of life for babies from 5 different countries.  I was completely wrapped up in the story of the African tribal baby.  I loved this baby and I loved his little life.  I watched him drink from puddles, play with rocks and nurse from his mamma's naked breast whenever he felt like it.  I'd anxiously sit through the Japanese, American and British babies, just waiting for this little one to come back on the screen.  I sometimes needed to cover my eyes while watching the Mongolian baby - scary stuff people!

I started thinking, why wasn't I born into an African tribe?  Why do I have to live in this world full of greed and possessions and rat racing?  Why can't I just sit with other African tribal mamma's while our babies play in the dirt at our feet?  What a carefree existence.  Seeing this very simple living made me so jealous.  I want so much to just spend days with my kids, not the few hours that I have every night.  Hours that are filled with house work and laundry and dinners and bath time and bed time.  Not enough hours to play and explore and imagine with them.  I want to move to Africa and be a tribal momma!!

Then, it snowed here last week.  A pretty big snow.  I ended up being left at the house with the kids alone.  The rest of the family stuck in grueling traffic for hours on end.  During this time, a few things happened that made me realize I may not be cut out for the African jungle.

I'm sure when you are born into an African tribe in the African jungle, you must be brave and cunning.  You need to protect your young from lions and other carnivorous creatures.  You must be smarter than members of other tribes or they may absorb you in most unpleasant ways.

Most likely, it is probably frowned upon to scream like a little girl and stifle tears when a neighbor startles you through the front window.  Especially considering you have 3 man eating dogs at your disposal.  Not really, but what does he know other than the three 50+ pound dogs barking like lunatics and trying to eat him through the storm door.

Also, as an African tribal momma, you can't depend on conveniences like heat and electricity.  You must know how to feed your children without a stove or boiling water.  You must be able to keep them warm on cool evenings.  You probably need to be able to start a fire.  There is probably not an "ON" button for the fire place...actually, there is probably not a fire place. 

So when the electricity went out, it was probably not the best to come very close to a panic attack.  I called my sister and told her this, to which she laughed. I don't think she realized I was serious.

There we sat in the dark, cold house all alone.  I thought about the movie, because I often think of it when I'm sick of my crazy life and how much I don't want the craziness, I just want the simplicity.  But this time I think about how I just want the heat to come back on, because how quickly will the house get cold?  And I just want the lights to come on, because I'm kind of afraid of the dark, especially when I'm all alone.  But I can't really be afraid, because I don't want the kids to be afraid.  And I think, I am so not cut out to be an African tribal momma.

Damn!