Life in the Slow Lane

One of the best things about our trip around the country is the number of things I knew but didn't know until I experienced it first hand. For instance, in case you didn't know, Texas is a big state.  Our train arrived in El Paso at about 7 in the morning and we spent all that day and into mid morning the next traveling through Texas (with the exception of our hour and a half in San Antonio, as previously mentioned ). Texas has a lot of beautiful places, but it also has a whole lot of places that look just like what we saw five minutes ago and five minutes before that and even five hours before that. While each of us three enjoyed watching our scenic routes throughout our trip, halfway through Texas, CutieBabyBoy found something far more interesting to watch than more of Texas.

This is the post I almost didn't write. And before I can actually write it, let me put in a few disclaimers: This is the life I know. This is not intended as a statement about the lives of others or of how lives should be or even of how my life will be tomorrow. This is right now, in my little house. I sit long-ways on our rocking couch, the laptop topping my lap, my legs resting on the pile of yet-to-be-answered letters I dreamed would be considerably smaller by now, my feet hanging off the armrest on one side and my shoulders hanging over the other side. The toy box is tipped on its side spilling out a conglomeration of toys, baby books, wooden spoons and other miscellaneous kitchen items that worked particularly well as distractions at some point during the last few days. There is a basket of laundry that includes a load of clean, dry towels and clean, wet diapers. The sink is full of dirty dishes, the drying rack is full of clean dishes, and the table is full of everything tha...

On my walk between home and work, I pass a childcare center. The building is set off from the road, with a large play area sloping down towards the street with a fence and formed shrubbery providing the only separation between the outside world and the pre-K world. Very infrequently do I pass by when the children are out in the yard playing. But even less frequently do I pass by when there are not toys scattered all over the shrubs, sidewalk, and even into the street. Sometimes it seems that the game of the hour (or rather the 30 seconds until the children got caught) was to throw every item within reach overboard. Rubber balls, giant puzzle pieces, Barbie's dishes. I half expect to walk by some day and find a younger child has been thrown over the fence. I nearly took the time to look for one when I discovered an empty shoe. But perhaps the empty shoe, the matchbox car, and the other escapees of the toy box are like Noah's dove or a Mars rover... sent out to gather informati...

Excitement is making a long distance call to rave about the features on a new mattress. Excitement is forgetting to even say "hello" or identifying yourself before launching into the details. Excitement is not saying good-bye before hanging up when the bed arrives. Excitement is telephoning a friend, in your pajamas and under the covers, at 6:30 pm and promising to call again the next day to tell you how great the night was. Cute kid, I wonder if he will even be able to sleep because of his excitement. At least there won't be any arguments about whether he is allowed to sleep with his new gift or not.

Today a little boy stood at my knee, crying and saying "More food, more food." Talk about a heart breaking picture, especially so soon after Christmas. How could I possibly turn him away and ignore his plaintive cry? Answer: By remembering that he had just gotten in trouble for dropping tuna fish on the floor and then spitting. But really, after taking a look at this picture , you can't really blame the poor kid for trying, can you?

Give a boy a hammer Originally uploaded by biukalee . This was taken within a minute of the hammer being taken out of its packaging. Yes, this picture is blurry, but it still qualifies as a classic, right?

Overheard conversation between two children, aged approximately 6 years: "No, no... it's right next to the freeway." "Oh, good. I hate the freeway."

My, what big teeth you have! Originally uploaded by biukalee . The last week of life as a full-time babysitter (do you remember those ancient days?), I took a disposable camera with me to take photos of my kids. I made sure to take a disposable one so that my kids could take pictures of me, too. After looking at these photos, is it any wonder that kids get scared of adults?

The Babysitter Giant and the Dinosaur Eggs Originally uploaded by biukalee .

Fee Fi Fo Fum Originally uploaded by biukalee .

My charge while looking at some mushed up playdough: "And here's Mommy and here are her eyes and her nose and her boogies and her smile and everything."

When kids snuggle close and then wet their pants, does it speak of my success as a care-giver or my failure as a potty-trainer?

For the last 17 years, Summer has always been that time of year between the last day of classes and the first day of classes. Fall was August through December. Spring was January through May. Winter was some unknown legendary state: It went along with Santa Claus, who we all knew, of course, was a myth that some people tried to pass off as real. The idea that these names actually had something to do with the weather and not the school year was slow in coming to me. Since I didn't have the end of school to mark the beginning of summer for me this year, when summer arrived two days ago, I was forced to revert to my days before school. The first day of Summer was celebrated by getting soaked from the garden hose, playing in the mud, and spilling lemonade all over.

Today, to my slight horror, I realized that my two charges had no idea who Mother Goose is. They knew three or four of the rhymes I asked if they recognised, but they didn't know Georgie Porgie, Little Miss Muffet, the old woman who lived in a shoe, Little Mary Quite Contrary, and a host of others. The cultural literacy is changing folks. So of course, I had to remedy the situation. I ran out of Mother Goose rhymes that I could remember off of the top of my head and so I started in on fairy tales. "Who is Little Red Riding Hood?" So I had to tell them that one, too. I must admit I wondered if maybe there was a reason that their mother hadn't told them a story about a wolf eating a grandma and a little girl, but they liked it so much they wanted me to tell it again. And that led into the three little pigs. (Will their mother be okay that the wolf ended up in the fire place?) And that into the three billy goats gruff. (I decided being introduced to so much death might b...

I eat good. Originally uploaded by biukalee . I was jealous that Caedmonstia gets to post cute pictures and stories of her godson, so I took these of mine.

What were you going to say? Originally uploaded by biukalee .

Sometimes I am bothered when I consider the types of conversations I have in my current life. Observe the following telephone conversation which transpired while I was at home, preparing to take a short vacation. *Bring! Bring!* Me: "Hello?" Caller: "Hi. Did he have his morning poop yet?" Me: "No." Caller: "Okay. Thanks. I was just checking." Me: "Okay. Bye." Caller: "Bye." Admittedly, I chose this life for the time being, but as much as it may surprise you, I did not choose this job for the excitement of tracking p**p status.

When you find yourself part of a marching band that consists of a drum and a triangle, you find yourself contemplating the greater truths of life. Such as "No wonder I will be deaf by the time I am 34." So then you might try hitting the triangle so that it doesn't give off as much clang, but alas, that won't go unnoticed, and the drum major will turn around and strictly instruct you on how to hit it so that you get the most clang for your bang. And then perhaps you will be playing with lincoln logs, and in between knocking over towers and banging heads with the logs, the drum major will again strike up a strong beat on the overturned storage can (Whose bright idea was it to put lincoln logs in a metal can?) and will want you to stay close so that you can observe his perfect form. And then you will begin to wish longingly that you worked with lawn mowers, vacuum cleaners, or leaf blowers, where it is perfectly acceptible to wear ear plugs.

For a very long semester in eighth grade I had a computer class where the main assignment every day was to play SimCity. I would have preferred to do typing practice, but the only exercises were typing the same couple of sentences over and over and over again. So, in the war between two insanely boring activities, SimCity won out. Except there was that time when we were supposed to print out our city and then we all graded each other on the end result. I seem to recall that people didn't like how I colored the ground. Anyway, if you haven't gotten the main point of my story so far: SimCity bored me to near death. But this week I am really looking forward to building a city. One of the families I babysit for is leaving for a week and, this is the best part, they are leaving all of their building toys! Super delux Thomas Track; race car track with sand traps and burning hoops; Matchbox cars of nearly every make and model; Tinker Toys; Matchbox garage, fire station, car spinner; L...

Today I was told that there was fabric that kept stuff in the sky. The bean sized hail bouncing against the windows was quite a distraction , so it took me awhile to realize that there was a problem with that statement. With a few mental gymnastics and key questions, I figured out that he meant "static" rather than "fabric". I am inclined to think that his conclusion that the forces of static keep things from falling from the sky are a mix of knowing that static makes things stick and that there is static electricity in storms. But I can just imagine the truth behind Chicken Little's tale... one too many dryer sheets.