Life in the Slow Lane

Today, due to the combination of my age and my position in a certain non-profit organization that sometimes requires me to drive, I had to take an online tutorial on defensive driving. One of the questions went like this: To determine the right following distance, first select a fixed object on the road such as a sign, tree, or overpass. When the vehicle in front of you passes the object, slowly count to what number? A) One thousand B) Two thousand C) Three thousand D) Four thousand I know it has been a few years since I took drivers ed, but I think if people counted to even one thousand to confirm that they weren't tailgating, most people would never get out of their driveway. And if they did happen to get out on the road, I'm not sure I want people trying to count to one thousand while they are driving. I'm sure they would lose track somewhere around 356 or start wondering if they had ever counted through the 400s. Personally, I think it would be safer for people to talk

Awhile back I mentioned the presence of a drama kitty in our neighborhood who decided she (he?) liked our yard best. When I wrote that post so long ago, I worried that it might go prima dona and start demanding things we didn't want to give. My fears have been realized. The cat now comes frequently to mark our front door and oh! The stench! How do you get rid of a cat that isn't yours?

A poem. (Not to be compared to Serapio's .) Remote controls Cordless phones Computer keyboards Cell phones PDAs Calculators Yesterday's exciting new technology Today's toy box filler Suffering the harsh realities of Speeding progress Superfluous manufacturing and Slobber Illustrating seized opportunities of Innovation Industry and Infants

Every once in awhile I find myself asking "Are these the same children I have been babysitting for the last year and a half?" Usually this is not a good thing. But today these children, and I think they were the same children, sat enraptured while I pretended to bake. Through 45 minutes (yes, that is forty-five) they listened to me go through recipes for waffles, cookies, fruit salad, and many others. They even put down their flying scooters to come listen. I tell you, if it hadn't been for their reaction to a "little baby" beetle crawling across the cement and then being quickly consumed by a "big meanie" spider, I would be inclined to think that there was an alien invasion afoot. While I'm on the topic of alien invasions, since I so rarely happen upon this subject, I saw five minutes of a most interesting TV show the other day. In it, scientists were theorizing that the only way to explain the radical shift in bone structure in the evolutionary h

Thanks to the Little Einsteins' Silly Song Machine on Playhouse Disney, I now have several classical tunes stuck in my head accompanied by "Zing, Zing" "Darf, Darf" "Ping, Ping" and "Flap, Flap." I expect the men in the white suits to fetch me soon. But it could be worse, at least it is classical music and not Rock 'n Roll.

My good deed for this morning was teaching a boy the wonders of pockets for keeping his rock collection. My good deed for this afternoon should be telling his mother to start checking his pockets before she does the laundry.

Someone once told me "One boy, one brain. Two boys, half a brain." At the time, I thought it was a rather rude thing to say. Since then, however, I've seen this maxim at work on several occassions. Episode 1: Boy watching TV from bed. Enter Second Boy. Two boys now standing on bed, hitting their own heads with their fists, and hurdling themselves to the floor. Episode 2: Boy coloring quietly. Enter Second Boy. Two boys now flinging the crayons every which way. Episode 3: Boy riding his scooter. Enter Second Boy. Two boys now having flying scooter contests. The thing I don't understand is how quickly these bazaar ideas can hatch. It isn't like I wasn't within hearing and so missed the negotiations of exactly what half-baked plan the two would engage in. I was there, I was paying attention, and I still missed the negotiations. These scenarios aren't even with the same boys. And while I'm on the subject of boys and brains, can anyone help me understand wh

In the world of kids, there are definite trends in food. For instance, I can't remember babysitting for a single family that did not, at one time or another, have cheese sticks in their refrigerator. That is just fine. I happen to like cheese sticks. Colby, Mozzarella, Cheddar, and even Monterrey Jack. But there are other food trends in Kid Land that took a little while longer to grow on me. I've already mentioned Macaroni and Cheese, and I'm sure you remember hot dogs from your own childhood (of course now a days, they are 100% turkey meat or chicken) and peanut butter and jelly. Both of which I gave up eating about the time I entered high school, but now that I lunch with kids, I've added them back to my diet. I've even met and conquered the dreaded cheese spray. But while I catch myself eyeing the baby's applesauce (also something that I spent nearly a decade avoiding, although college cafeteria food drove me back to it) or munching on fish crackers because t

I have heard that Native Americans used to chew leather to make it soft and pliable. Maybe the dog was just trying to do me a favor. I wish I could come up with a similar excuse for the kid who cuddled close to me while wetting his pants.

You know you need a break when you walk through a fabric store looking for potential fabric for bridesmaid dresses and you see a furry material that immediately makes you think of having multi-colored Elmo suits for all of the bridesmaids.

There is nothing as effective for showing your age as attempting to hang out in a tent clubhouse whose dimensions measure two feet wide by four feet long by three feet high. Especially if that clubhouse is on a cement floor and also has one three year old, eight pillows, four large board books, a puzzle, two animal flashlights, and a pirate ship. After crawling through the teeny opening, trying to read in the shadowy darkness, conduct an imagined dialogue between a mean pirate and a hungry dinosaur, providing the stabilizing force on the pile of pillows that is the landing pad, and climbing out, I feel like I've aged 65 years. I guess it is okay for me to be old, I have enough stories for me to tell while sitting in a rocking chair..."When I was your age, I had to tear off the crusts on my own sandwiches! And I never got to watch Barney or Wiggles! And worst of all, I never ate Kraft Macaroni and Cheese! Oh, the horrors."