Thursday morning, we packed up our ‘yall’s’, need for sweet tea and the overwhelming desire for grits to head back to Georgia.
The airplane ride to New York was not as near as terrifying as I thought. After All, I was nestled in between my two chicks, a mother hen with her wings wrapped tightly around her peeps; comforting them, keeping them warm and safe from harm.
Yep, I felt NO fear whatsoever and my tail feathers weren’t ruffled one iota.
That was…on the way there.
Unfortunately on the way home…
The bird was chunk-ed from her nest.
Because I didn’t ‘book my flight with US Air themselves’, they split us up. Izzy sat between two women, Jake was parked in between two younger girls (nope, he wasn’t complaining), and I was jammed in between two unidentified men. Umm…. is US Air just trying to teach me a lesson??? Don’t book your flights through American Express travel, you must go through us or you might be tossed from your comfy nest??? Were they like trying to be rude or what? Who knows. All I know is that I ended up sitting between 2 men who didn’t even look up to say hello as I plopped my tail feathers between them. At first, I seriously considered asking if I could sit on the end of the row so if the plane started crashing I could dash to my children’s side and be with them as the plane went down.
Instead, I choose to sit in middle of he two men and completely ambush them if need be.
It need not be.
The plane didn’t crash.
Which is a good thing…in so many ways. for one: the man sitting next to me was what he later called a ‘very nervous flyer’,
AKA a chicken.
He was not eggergerating!
(Sorry, couldn’t resist.)
When the stewardess came by with her beverage and food cart, lil chicken asked for a double vodka and I watched as he shook the ice and gobbled it down. Next came the potato chips. Poor guy can barely stick his hand in the bag and get himself a chip. His hands were over the top shaking. I am so concerned about this bird freaking out on me, I focus all my attention on getting his attention off of the plane ride.
I stick my beak in his buiness as I poke and prode this chicken about his own lil peeps. Hoe old are they? What’s it like to have twins? Does one wake the other up? you know: quack quack quack…anything to calm this bird down.
It worked. Shortest flight I ever had.
It is Wednesday morning in New York City. Some nut head (My son Jake) has set our alarm to wake us at 6:40. a.m. After a thorough lashing, (by his mother) we all get up and begin to stumble through our room. (Except Izzy, who refuses to lift her head at such an unruly time of the morning.)
“How could you?????” moans Izzy. “What have I ever done to deserve this?” As if he has cut off your finger or something….
“We all agreed last night that if we wanted to visit the Statue Of Liberty that we would have to get up early to avoid the 3 hour lines!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
So we get up.
Ten minutes later, we reconvene and decide that the Statue Of Liberty is overrated and we need our rest so we get back in bed.
10 minutes later, we decide that we were being unpatriotic and get back outta bed.
We want to get the full New York experience and ride the subway. I’m a lil nervous about the subway but I want my kids to have the whole New York experience so I brace up…
And follow my 16 year child throughout the streets and down into a hole. Cringing at the lack of windows, (because of da claustrophobia) my only peace is to see rays of light coming up from the streets.
I didn’t faint. Thank goodness.
Izzy and I are totally ready to bag this subway experience but Jake is determined to get to the Statue Of Liberty so he walks as fast as his pencil thin legs will take him. (leaving me and Izzy behind and not enough time to dash outta there.)
It took us an hour but we got there…..just in time to stand in a 3 hour line. Errrr ummmm. That’s total:
We squash the Statue Of Liberty idea and hop a tour bus to try to get to Central Park. I’m trying to be a good and accommodating mom….one child wants to go the museum, the other wants to ride the lil bike guy who pulls you behind him, so we compromise.
We flag down a bike boy.
“How much to the museum?”
His accent is so thick, I can’t understand a word he says. “Blah blah blah, hocka hocka hocka!”
“Something, something something …10 dollars.”
“Something something something Hocka Hocka, 65 dollars.”
“Oh, no!! We want the 10 dollar ride through Central Park!!!”
“Blah something blah something blah.”
“Ummmm ok. I think.”
Fifteen minutes later, we are at the museum. A museum. Not the museum we exactly wanted to be at. (like Jake really wants to see the art museum.) He’s wanting to see the museum of natural history. Errr duh!!!!
We don’t say anything as not to confuse our lil driver. We thank him and I ask “how much?”
“Hahahahahahahahahahaha!!!! You’re so funny!!!! Seriously! How much?”
Seriously? You want 165.00 for a 15 minute ride?”
He was serious.
“I’m not paying you 165.00 that’s ridiculous!”
And so we get into it. I threaten the police and even go off to find one and of course I can’t. I have Jake take a picture of his licence because my ‘husband’ (who incidentally is a very powerful attorney), is going to be “very very angry that he has tried to take advantage of an innocent mother and her two children.”
He doesn’t seem to care that my husband is rich and mean.
After two failed attempts of finding a policeman, many bundling words, I tell him that I will give him $60.00 bucks. He just looks at me. I toss him $55.00 (just for spite) and walk off into the crowd, up the stairs to the museum, around the corner, back down the steps where we hop into a cab and six dollars later we are skipping gleefully through the museum of natural history.
When you’re a momma whose sick, it stinks. When you’re a single momma whose sick, it super stinks. You lie there in your bed, all congested and snorting listening to the vicious arguing amongst the two children in the next room. The slamming of doors, the name calling, death threats etc …. oh yeah, they are out for blood those two! You’re weak, you’re weary and you can’t seem to get the gumption to actually get out of bed and snag the instigator. Which, by the way, I think is Jake.
Oh yeah, he’s been in a foul one for the last three days. It started on Saturday to be exact. That’s when his friend came over to hang. Now when I first heard Friend was coming over, I said “whoa whoa man, I don’t know if I’ll have time to go get him and take him home, after all the child lives 30 minutes away.”
“Oh you don’t have to, he’s driving.”
“Driving? Friend is driving? What exactly is Friend driving? His scooter, skateboard, wheel barrow?”
“Ummm. Funny, mom. Friend has his drivers licence. And a car.”
I begin to perspire.
“Well, who in the world let him do that???” I ask, my voice all quibbling and such.
“His mom did it. Like MY mom is supposed to do it …and hasn’t!!!!”
Dern these 16 year olds can be mouthy!!!!! “My fault?? It’s my fault that YOU haven’t mastered he art of driving?? It’s my fault that YOU catch a wheel every time you back out of a parking space?? It’s my fault when you park on the curb making the car so whompsie and one sided, I’m sure we’re gonna flip over? I guess I’m the one who causes you stop in the middle of a busy road to ‘let that poor guy out in traffic’ when we almost get smushed by 10,000 cars in the process? Jake, I don’t think you’re ready to drive on your own. White knuckling the steering wheel and profuse back sweating is not the norm, honey.”
“Yea, I know. it’s all your fault. You won’t let me drive enough.”
“My fault????????” I feel my temperature rising. “Excuse me mister, but you really haven’t shown that much interest and it doesn’t help that we live across the street from everything we could possibly need.”
Errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…of all the nerve!
Then Jake continues to growl about how I’m holding him back, crushing his self esteem…..yada yada yada.
Uhhhh. yeah, sure.
Then he starts running his smack about something…… 40 hours of driving and how I, yes I was supposed to get some sheet to log in his driving hours. “Whoa, dude!! I nothing!!! I got my drivers license 100 years ago and I am not responsible for you getting your 40 hours sheet!!!” (Whatever in the heck that is!!!!)
So, more doors slam and Jake is off to his room to think up evil names to call me. At this point, my nose is too stuffy to call the drivers license place so I lie back down and awake to breakfast in bed, Izzy style:
At least one child still likes me…for the moment….