In the country
So, I came home the other day and told David -- they're playing our song on country radio! "No way!" he says, in that sorta superior, I know who Death Cab for Cutie is, and would you please get past Lyle Lovett, kind of way. "Really!" I said. "There's this song and it says, 'I want to walk you through a field of flowers and check you for ticks!'"
We spend a lot of time up in Connecticut (the proud home of Lyme Disease) and Cape Cod, and he's always whining about what kind of critters could be hiding in his manfur. (Could be small rodents!) Usually, I say, "Check yourself!" Now, I see that I have been singing the wrong tune.
Anyway, this is not the first time that I've turned on country music and thought, "How prescient! What genius! My God, they're singing about me!"
To wit: "Driving through town, just my boy and me, with a Happy Meal in his booster seat, knowing he can't have the toy til his nuggets were gone. A green traffic light turned straight to red, I hit my brakes and mumbled under my breath. His fries went a flying and his orange drink covered his lap."
Except, in our life, it's more like this: "Driving through town, just Lucy and me, with a Happy Meal in her booster seat. She begs me for the toy, 'Where's my toy? Where's my toy? Where's my toy? Where's my toy?' Until I finally say, 'Okay! But you have to wait until Mommy stops the car! We don't want an accident!' And then I do stop at a red light and she says, 'Mommmmy! Where's my toy?' And then I root around in the paper bag until I find the stupid plastic Toy of Consumer Satan and then, while I'm reaching back to give it to her, I lift my foot off the brake and roll into the work truck in front of me. Her fries go flying and she says, 'Wha' happened, Mommy??' And then I get out of the van, and we're talking about that corner of H Street, near 395, where I once saw a homeless woman change her clothes in a bus shelter, and I tell the nice man, who looks to be a very handsome landscaper from the Opie's homeland, 'I'm so sorry!' And, of course, I touch his arm, and he says, 'Is OK.' And then I get back in the car, creep carefully onto the highway, and my child says, 'But, but, Mommy -- open my toy!'"
We spend a lot of time up in Connecticut (the proud home of Lyme Disease) and Cape Cod, and he's always whining about what kind of critters could be hiding in his manfur. (Could be small rodents!) Usually, I say, "Check yourself!" Now, I see that I have been singing the wrong tune.
Anyway, this is not the first time that I've turned on country music and thought, "How prescient! What genius! My God, they're singing about me!"
To wit: "Driving through town, just my boy and me, with a Happy Meal in his booster seat, knowing he can't have the toy til his nuggets were gone. A green traffic light turned straight to red, I hit my brakes and mumbled under my breath. His fries went a flying and his orange drink covered his lap."
Except, in our life, it's more like this: "Driving through town, just Lucy and me, with a Happy Meal in her booster seat. She begs me for the toy, 'Where's my toy? Where's my toy? Where's my toy? Where's my toy?' Until I finally say, 'Okay! But you have to wait until Mommy stops the car! We don't want an accident!' And then I do stop at a red light and she says, 'Mommmmy! Where's my toy?' And then I root around in the paper bag until I find the stupid plastic Toy of Consumer Satan and then, while I'm reaching back to give it to her, I lift my foot off the brake and roll into the work truck in front of me. Her fries go flying and she says, 'Wha' happened, Mommy??' And then I get out of the van, and we're talking about that corner of H Street, near 395, where I once saw a homeless woman change her clothes in a bus shelter, and I tell the nice man, who looks to be a very handsome landscaper from the Opie's homeland, 'I'm so sorry!' And, of course, I touch his arm, and he says, 'Is OK.' And then I get back in the car, creep carefully onto the highway, and my child says, 'But, but, Mommy -- open my toy!'"
posted by Mary Ellen at
5:14 PM
3 Comments:
What a coinkydink, I live on Cape Cod- the Lyme desease tick capital of the world!
That was hilarious, n why they invented the rule "No eating in the car"- It was way easier without the booster-seats when the kids could fly with the food, n hang onto it...
my two girls each have two boys, two babies born this year.
Found your blog with the "next blog" button.
Hey David-
What's wrong with Lyle??
Nothing wrong with LL. It's Garth and Keith and all those other NASCAR posers who dream of someday getting their faces on a Chevy commercial.
Is there anybody I haven't offended yet?
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