it worse.)
It is 9:30 on Tuesday morning and I’ve already played short-order cook, refereed a half-dozen disagreements, picked up 27 toys (only to find them right back in the middle of the floor five minutes later), changed a very uncooperative toddler’s diaper and carried a screaming child to her room for “a little time to relax.”With 10 hours until bedtime – and more significantly, nine hours until my husband comes home from work – still ahead of me and what’s left of my patience (not much) quickly evaporating, I realized we needed a plan. And fast.
I thought back to last fall when I took the kids on their first train ride. We caught the train at the nearby train station and took it into Boston to meet my husband who was there for a meeting.
I didn’t have the money (or the energy) for a trip to Boston but thought exploring another form of public transportation, city buses, might be just the sanity-saving ticket I needed.
I hopped online to check the bus times and saw that we could take a 10:10 bus from the train station to the local mall.
With no more than a ten minute ride from our house to the train station, and all of us (thankfully) already dressed, I decided the 10:10 was doable.
I announced the plans to the kids and my daughter, who has been begging me to take her on a bus for months, jumped and screamed with glee.
By 10 minutes of 10 we were in the car and on our way.
When we arrived, the train station lot was packed so we looped around to the overflow parking where we found a space.
It was 10 o’clock and I knew we had 10 minutes until our bus was due but that didn’t stop me from launching into a full panic when I saw a bus coming around the corner.
With kids still strapped into their seats, I ran around to the back of the car to signal as best I could (jumping around and flailing my arms) for the driver to please wait for us.
He acknowledged me with a wave and I felt a surge of excitement.
With one kid in my arms and one running as fast as her little legs could carry her, we ran towards the bus stop.
As we approached, I saw the bus driver smoking a cigarette and decided it was safe to stop running.
When I got close enough to talk to the driver, and had paused long enough to catch my breath, I learned that the bus we had just chased was actually not the bus we were there to catch.
Our bus would be arriving in a few minutes.
I counted out my quarters and positioned them in my jacket pocket. According to the posted schedule the day’s bus-riding adventure was going to cost $3 for the round trip (kids under five ride for free).
When our bus finally rounded the corner and we climbed on board, I felt the huge surge of relief I remembered from my days of commuting into the city via the bus.
Although I wasn’t quite able to mentally check-out as I did back in those pre-kid days, it was still a great feeling to not be the driver for once.
As we turned out onto the road, some of the other passengers (who I learned at the mass exodus of the next stop, were college students) began to smile at my daughter.
The bus ride, which was just a way to get from Point A to Point B for them, was a magical adventure, every second of which was savored, by my three-and-half-year-old.
“We’re as high as the trees, Mama!
“Look Mama, there is the farm we’ve been to. It looks so neat from way up here.
“Look Mama, there’s the library.
“Mama, look! I see our church!
“This is SO amazing, Mama!”
And on it went. The Co-op, the ice-cream shop, the bike path, the turn to our friends’ house – all were announced with overflowing joy.
As we wove our way towards the mall and the warm broccoli soup that awaited us at Panera Bread, I thought back to the insanity of the morning and sighed.
Nine hours left to go until bedtime – though I can honestly say, I was no longer counting.
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