Friday, June 08, 2007

On the Move

So I have always loathed the idea of anyone in my family riding a motorcycle. I have always thanked the Lord that Tim isn’t remotely interested in purchasing one; I have shied away from buying Gabe any toy motorcycle that might rev up any interest in the subject that could possibly fan into passionate interest in his older years. I have worked with too many patients who are way too young to not be able enjoy the full use of their limbs after an episode with a motorcycle. Still. I must admit. After waiting at the stoplight beside the red motorcycle with the fat wheels, Trusty Ol’ beside Crotch Rocket 65, I did experience some fluttering, flashing licks of envy as he roared away down the road when the light turned green, leaving me in his dust, flying through the warm summer air…and I thought “Mebbe I need me one of them motorcycles”. I pictured myself zipping to and from work, able to go 0-60 in precious few seconds (this was truthfully one of my top interests), getting off that line and down the road, and paying minimal gas for it. I am not one of those individuals that enjoy the commute. I want to be there already, come on now. With one of those little motorcycles, I could just whip between offending cars and whiz my happy little way down the road. Wistful sigh. Such are the dreams of Carrie.

Of course, then there’s that other little dream where I have my rocket car. I glide smoothly down the highway – and when I come upon that white sedan driving 7 mph below the speed limit while talking on their cell phone? Why, I simply pull back gently on my steering wheel, and the nose of my car angles up, up, up towards the sky, and I roar (elegantly) over the cars on the road, soaring above the telephone lines, arriving at my destination in record time and with nothing to stop me. Cutting smoothly through the air in my little silver bullet rocket car, eyes narrowed intelligently, knifing into a sharp turn, all sharp efficiency. Bliss. Wistful sigh.

Be that as it may, I love being around my family too much to risk the motorcycle. And can not, at least this year, afford the rocket car. So I will putter along in my blue minivan, just dreaming. Honk if I’m in your way.


So he’s in his crib and he’s on his hands and knees. And he’s rocking, back and forth, back and forth. And now he’s screaming in exhausted rage, because he can’t figure out how to get DOWN so he can go to sleep. Such is a day in the life of a 7-month 3-weeker. Soon, my friends, very soon…my child will be in the move, on the move…


Cottonista said...

Sadly, we are putting our rocket car up for sale--my sweet beamer, my baby! We got Jason's version of a booger wagon--not a minivan, but an Expedition. Look out for me doing 7 mph under and, not talking on a cell phone, but wildly grabbing for a lost sippy cup.

Anonymous said...

I actually work with a girl who zips in and out from work on her very own Honda motorcycle, outfitted with the leather and helmet, to everyone's speed and gas money envy. BUT...she is actually not a nurse, but a tech who plans on being an FBI agent. Quite a difference there. :)

Carrie said...

Joyce. Ah, yes, moms of small children - the true danger on the road. :)

Emily. Perhaps I am a nurse FBI agent. Hmmm. (Mysterious look)