The Good-As-New Car's Cover

I’m not used to having trees in the yard. Our home in Kentucky was in a fairly new neighborhood, and the trees were little saplings compared to New Orleans trees. The trees in this yard are beyond beautiful. From what I’m told, they are among the first on this street. Their branches tower overhead and make an archway from the driveway, over the walkway, over the porch, to the roof. It is always shady in our front yard. In the back yard where we live, there is a lovely tree that overhangs from the neighbor’s yard providing shade and endless “secret-fort” playtime for the Bug and the Pea. The roots burst up from the ground forming a labyrinth of canals. I love to sit on the covered patio during a rainstorm and watch the showers of water cascade down the branches onto the roots below, creating muddy puddles. (Also a favorite moment for the kiddos, dancing in the rain under the tree branches. Spinning circles with their arms outstretched until they collapse into the wet grass, dizzy and giggling.)
We’re also fond of watching the wildlife. Mourning doves, and other birds perch on boughs overhead. Lizards scurry along the picket fence beneath the trees. Squirrels jet up and down the tree trunks, using branches as bridges from one tree to the next.
I park my car under the shade of the tree arch, in the driveway. The creatures of the air are especially fond of my automobile. They show their appreciation by pooping on the windshield, the car’s “sky light,” and the hood. Sometimes, an especially clever bird will figure out how to deliver droppings down the passenger and driver side windows. I realize they can’t help it. (Or can they?) Nevertheless, my white car is splattered with bird poopy on a fairly regular basis. The kids take great joy in this fact. They know it means we’ll visit the gas station often to use the windshield cleaner scraper tool. You would not believe the zeal shown by the girls as they wield the squeegee, dip it in water, splash it on the windshield and scrape away the birdie doo-doo.
Nevertheless, it was time to hit the car wash for some heavy duty scrubbing. I was running some errands and I happened to see a fellow holding a sign that said: Car Wash $20. I usually run the car through the automatic car wash, so $20 was a bit steeper than usual. But, what the hey? My poor car was in dire straights. The gentleman took one look at my car and tried not to faint from pure mortification. “What I’d suggest,” he began as he walked around the car, “is The Works.” Now THAT sounded like a plan. Unfortunately, I was informed that said “Works” cost $400. I tried not to laugh in the poor gentleman’s face. How was he to know I just spent well over a thousand dollars repairing my poor 1998 vehicle?
I put on a straight face and asked for something more in the “Let’s just get off the baked-on bird poop” category. He talked me up to a carpet shampoo and a car wash, and we both felt satisfied with the arrangement. I handed him the keys and stepped inside to await the finished product. The husband called and I told him he was going to see a Good As New Car when he came home. He suggested I purchase an inexpensive cover to keep said Good As New Car, well, good as new. A little preventative measure to preserve the cleanliness.
The fellows worked like dogs in the hot sun scrubbing and vacuuming and wiping down the windows on my car. It felt wonderful to drive off in a car that was actually white and not splattered with dirt, dust, and do-do. In fact, I felt so confident I drove straight to pick up a car cover and then back home in time to meet the kids at the bus stop.
The Bug and the Pea immediately noticed the Good As New Car. I imagine this was because their feet didn’t actually stick to the floor mats and their hineys weren’t surrounded by crumbs and wadded up pieces of paper in the back seat. We ran some errands together, and grabbed some Chik-fil-a nuggets on the ride home. The Bug was “starving” after her school day, and couldn’t wait until we got home to tear open the box of nuggets. (Breaded processed chicken products dipped in a sugary and/or mustard sauce = heaven in the Bug’s world.) She opened her favorite bright red Polynesian dipping sauce and began her meal. As we were pulling into the driveway, she squeals, “Mama! I spilt the whole package of sauce down the seat and on the floor! I don’t have enough napkins to clean it all up!”
Needless to say, I spent the next few minutes re-cleaning my Good As New Car. Scrubbing floor mats as the Bug sprayed cleaner on the seats and wiped with paper towels. As we concluded our job, and headed under the archway toward the front door we both heard the SPLAT. I turned around in time to see bird poopy cascading down the windshield. A christening of sorts. And I continued to head inside in search of the newly purchased car cover…

The Yellow Bus O' Mercy...

It’s truly the most wonderful time of the year. Back to school. Sending two cute, but ornery, little cherubs back to the hallowed halls of learning. The time in which my sanity begins to return and some semblance of peace and quiet settles upon me. Ah...silence…deep cleansing breath. OK, that wasn’t much of a dramatic re-enactment because the children are actually home as I write this. They have constructed elephant trunks out of pipe-cleaners and are tromping through the house in search of peanuts. I must say, for two relatively small children, they do sound a lot like elephants. Now the youngest announces, “Look! I’m training her for the circus!” I watch as the Bug rolls a rather awkward somersault and is rewarded by the Pea with a bowl of pretzels. All righty then. But I digress….
The girls are especially excited about the school bus this year. They are on, and I quote, “The Party Bus!” Complete with speakers in the back, star stickers on the ceiling, tinted windows and, gasp, air conditioning. (I know! Here in New Orleans in August. We weren’t used to air conditioned buses in Kentucky, it’s certainly worthy of writing home about.) Unfortunately, I am informed that the “disco ball” was removed from the bus last year. Oh well, easy come easy go.
The husband was listening to this exchange when he proclaimed in true “grumpy old man” tone: “Well! In my day, the only thing the bus driver carried was a 2 x 4!” This commentary induced immediate questions from the children. Why Daddy? They wanted to know. Why did your bus driver carry a wooden board and not a disco ball? (Which, considering we’re talking about the Stayin’ Alive era of the 1970’s is actually a valid question. HA)
Anyhoooo, my new favorite part of the day is bus arrival time. I deposit two uniform-clad youngsters, laden with lunch boxes and back-packs at our designated neighborhood intersection, i.e. bus stop. (I am reminded of walking with my little brother one block up and one block over to our bus stop when I was in 3rd grade. Too bad I can’t send my babies toting along on their own these days. It was quite a feeling of independence walking to the bus with our classmates/neighbor kiddos.) They squeal when they see a yellow image in the distance. This first week of school bus routes are still being perfected. In other words, the bus has been running uncharacteristically behind. The children are not quite certain that the bus WILL actually be picking them up regularly, and it’s always a surprise when the bus does actually show. On this particular morning, the first squeal revealed only a rather broken down pick-up truck filled with building materials. I was tempted to load the girls up anyway, but decided to wait until the actual school bus arrived.
Once I send the kids packing, I head back to the house and get busy unpacking. I know, I’m like a broken record. But THIS week, THIS WEEK, I tell you, I am going to completely finish the inside of the house and visitors will be able to walk from one end to the other without tripping over moving boxes and piles of junk. Good Will has become my new best friend. I know the drill. Pull up, unload, put beside the counter, take a pre-printed receipt, mark my zip code, head back to the house for a second load.
In the afternoon, at the allotted time, I head to the bus stop to pick up the returning cherubs. I watch as they bounce off the bus, wave to their friends, figure out that the bus driver is signaling them to MOVE out of the middle of the street and find me. “You’re not going to recognize the office!” I say excitedly. I’m all about affirmation, and there’s nothing like hearing a compliment to reaffirm my hard work. We walk into the house, the kids head to the office, and announce, “Gosh Mom. It looks exactly the same as when we left this morning.” WOW. I got nothing. I have sweated, toiled, lifted, sorted, unpacked, organized for 7 consecutive hours. I mean, this morning human beings could not physically fit into the office, and now it is organized such that my OCD self does not immediately begin to hyperventilate at the mere sight. Oh well. Perhaps the husband will notice.
If he can get past the little elephant being trained for the circus with the bowl o’ pretzels. And I’ll begin to count the moments until that bright yellow Bus of Mercy comes to pick up my two legged animals tomorrow morning...