I felt SO BAD, people. I wanted to climb back across and get out, claw my way over to her to apologize and make sure her heart was still beatin' and everything, but the situation bein' what it was, I felt it best to just cut my losses and beat a hasty retreat out of there.
And I suppose y'all want to hear the rest of that story, don't you?
Yes, of course you do.
Well, alrighty then.
On a particularly windy day last week (and by
particularly windy I don't mean
blustery, I mean
as will blow off all of your body hair), I took both kids to the library, our little barn-shaped public library into which so many books and other forms of media and fellow book-and-other-media-lovers are crammed that once you step inside the front door you've gotta take a number to BLINK, Peabody bucking hard in his stroller (he's already at that stage of babyhood where he WILL NOT BEND IN THE MIDDLE so when he's in his stroller, he looks a little bit like Hannibal Lecter bein' wheeled around standing up on that little hand-truck-ish thingy, you know what I'm talking about?) and Bean with Teddy in his mei tai on her back and her little pink be-jeweled library bag slung over one arm.
I navigated my posse cautiously through the too-tight stacks and the tippy-overy-lookin' periodical shelves and on through the double doors into the children's area, and Bean picked out a slew of "books" (I don't accept anything bearing the designation
Rug Rats or
Nickelodeon as actual literature, do you?) and then I chose REAL books FOR her (ahem), as Peabody remained propped diagonally, almost hovering ABOVE his stroller, only his shoulders and the backs of his calves touching, his behind held as FAR away from that seat as he could stretch it, grunting with all the frustration intrinsic to being SEVEN MONTHS OLD and STILL TREATED LIKE A BABY, HMPH!
We then slithered and inched our way back out to the front desk where I hoisted Bean up and down, up and down, from floor to counter, as she unloaded her bag of books for checking-out purposes and then up and down again as she put them BACK into the bag, Peabody now beginning to sound the up-with-this-I-shall-no-longer-put alarm at a frequency high enough to make everyone's eyes water (and we could only blink back those tears one person at a time, remember). I pushed him, him still standing against the back of his seat like a piece of plywood, over to a tiny corner where, without actually bein' able to move my own arms, I managed to get Bean into her coat, re-affix Teddy to her back, gather up the heavy sack of books, locate my keys and then point us all, Peabody's two stubbornly protruding feet first, through the front door and out into the jagged razorblades of freezing cold wind.
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAN! I shouted over the gale,
STAY ON THE SIDEWALK WHILE I GET PEABODY IN THE CAR!WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT? she wailed back.
THE SIDE. WALK. (Furiously pointing as the words were nearly blown back into my mouth.)
STAY ON THE SIDEWALK FOR A MINUTE. DON'T MOVE. OKAAAAAAAAAAAAY! she called back, as Teddy, in his mei tai, was whipped upwards and around to repeatedly slap her in the face. She stumbled momentarily but remained upright.
I opened Peabody's car door and shoved him, pressing down hard on his midsection, into his car seat, as he kicked and flailed, shaking loose a sock which the wind grabbed and carried immediately off to parts unknown. Probably somewhere in Canada. Once he was fastened in and angrily screeching his total, utter disgust with the situation, I wrestled the stroller into its folded position and struggled head-on with the wind to open the tailgate of the truck and deposit it inside, while keeping one eye on Bean, who I remained seriously fearful might be lifted up and blown across the street and into the parking lot of the new municipal complex at any moment.
Stroller stowed away, I fought my way back to Bean and grabbed her just as her feet began to leave the ground. I made my way to the other side of the car to discover that another library patron had parked well to the right of his allotted slot, leaving a space about as wide as a slice of dried-up raisin bread between his vehicle and mine. I could open Bean's door about a half an inch. We looked at each other and rolled our eyes simultaneously.
On the other side of the truck again, we both hauled ourselves up through the passenger door and she crawled over the console and back into her booster seat, as Peabody wailed on hysterically. I made my way over the
&%#* parking brake and into my seat just as Bean reminded me, loudly,
You still gotta BUCKLE ME UP, Mama.Si-i-i-gh.Which is how I ended up backwards in my seat, leaning over the console, my front half bent awkwardly around to reach Bean, directly behind me, re-roll her
frickafrackin' seat belt (remember,
THIS ONE?) ALL THE WAY BACK IN, to the FINAL STUPID MILLIMETER,
seethe-seethe, pull it back out, fasten it literally with the very tips of my fingernails, tighten it up, all the while feeling, and I'm pretty sure HEARING,
essential components of my skeleto-muscular system giving way, never to be quite the same again.
(I'm like a sad old un-stretchy Stretch Armstrong whose polymers have been fully compromised by too much time in the burning sun, stuck up and forgotten in the back window of the Plymouth, is what I am.)
Which brings us to where I sat back and accidentally deafened, and potentially ended the life of, a sweet old lady, with my right buttock on the steering wheel.
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