Ferguson. Apples. and Phlegm.

I’m making sweet sweet love to my Advil Cold & Sinus today.  I will rue the day this ever goes off the market.  {Seriously Advil, if you ever decide to get rid of it give me a heads up, I’d be buying meth levels and hoarding it for future colds.}

Monday, I woke up with what can only be described as face stabbing pain behind my eye balls and cheek bones, coupled with the chills.  Which?  Is a great start to a Monday morning.  Luckily, the Davester came to my rescue and worked from home.  He took Finn to school and sent me straight to bed to sleep off whatever this stupid junk is.  I was a nasal irrigating, C&S popping fool and now I feel much more human today.

I’m blaming last Friday.

Oh yes, some may say it was just a field trip, but we all know what it really was.  Forty disease vectors + me in a small enclosed space = recipe for crud. 

Enough about the resulting phlegm, let’s talk apples!

We started our morning off with a sprint through that W-store {the only thing open} for rain boots because it was supposed to pour and we were going to be walking through a muddy apple orchard.  Doesn’t that sound like the best time ever?  I forgot to pack a lunch for him, down the deli aisle we went.  Lunchables are a rare treat in our house, so needless to say Finn thought he was having the winningest Friday ever.

We made it to school in the nick of time as I am pulling off his shoes and handing him boots.  Two of the other moms in Finn’s class and I were supposed to ride together while the kids rode the bus, so I’m chucking his stinky sneaks into the way back out of the way.  The Davester even swept out my car the night before so they didn’t have to sit on stale Annie’s Bunny Crackers.  A quiet drive filled with adult talk and coffee drinking and all around awesomeness before the chaos of wrangling pint sized punks.

Incidentally, kindergarten teachers are fucking saints.  I only had three to wrangle and one was my own.  I have no idea how she does it every day with twenty of them when she doesn’t have the power of withholding Angry Birds or Wild Kratts.  I am pretty sure she’s made of magic. 

We were all assigned our three children and walked them to the door.  When half the class had loaded on, she said a few adults could go on next, then the rest of the class, then the rest of the adults.

Um.

That was SO not the plan.

I wasn’t sure if I should raise my hand or just get in my car and scream peace out from the open sunroof.  I figure that *might* not be behavior becoming of a room mom, but I thought about it.

First, have you ever been on a school bus as an adult?  I’m only 5’3” tall and even my knees were pressing into the back of the mom in front of me.  You can see, that as the midget I am, this is a rare problem for me to encounter.

As in, it has never happened ever.

Thank God for my friend Karri because my anxiety level was at an eleven.

We also had a surly driver who, in the span of five minutes, made age inappropriate comments, told us he was mostly over his pneumonia, explained which button we should push if he passes out and/or slumps over while driving, AND that we were to kick the windows out if he crashes the bus.  Then he called my Finn, Ferguson… which made me a little less than confident in his eyesight and simultaneously amused at his new nickname.  He also *might* have hollered something about the other bus driver needing to step on the gas if she was going to keep up with HIS lead.

There are approximately ZERO seatbelts, so you can see how my conviction in his ability is a little low at this point?

And then it started…  The bouncing and the rocking and the lurching.  I’m getting a little vommy just thinking about it. 

His parting words as we exited into our fun morning at the orchard?  “Remember bus #123 or you’ll NEVER get back to Toledo.”

  

 

I signed up to chaperone and all I got was this lousy t-shirt typhoid.