Just a little band trip story for you. I've got a hundred of 'em.
On one particularly hot day, after watching the steel band perform at Downtown Disney, one of my buddies and I hopped on a bus to ride the 25 minutes back to our hotel. We found comfortable seats and sat back to relax. At the next stop, a family joined us with two small children. My buddy, being a gentleman, gave up his seat for the father who was holding a sleepy two year old. The little boy's sister proceeded to pester the poor kid, making him fuss. The parents were gentle and reprimanded the pesky sister with inside voices and loving tones. Good parents.
At the next stop, two women climbed on, each with a giant folded stroller, a giant shopping bag, and a sticky baby in her arms. I gave up my seat for one of the mothers and stood in front of her. She was thankful and plopped down. Her baby, on the other hand, belted me right in the gut for my thoughtfulness. That's when the mother screamed at her. She was only about 14 months, I think, not really talking and just barely walking. Nice. We should have known we were in for trouble.
The other mother settled in across the aisle and handed a big sticky sucker to the mother in front of me. I was shocked to see this mother hand the big sticky sucker to the baby. The kid could poke out an eye. The baby stuck the thing in her mouth, then on her face, then in her hair, then on her mother's lap, then waved it around too close to me for my comfort. Then she turned the thing around and stuck the wooden stick at least 3-4 inches into her mouth. The mother ignored the potential choking, but I couldn't stand it. I pulled the stick out of the baby's mouth and handed the sucker to the mother, explaining that her baby was about to gag herself to death. My buddy just gritted his teeth. "Oh whatever," the mother said. Excuse me? BAD PARENT AWARD.
The two babies, on opposite sides of the bus cried, and my buddy and I stood for what we believed would be a long and unpleasant ride. We had no idea. Finally, two seats cleared, so I joined another band mother who happened to be riding with us, and we took the seats. Now the two crying babies were directly in front of us. We didn't realize there were two babies directly behind us. Within minutes, all four babies were crying, screaming piercing cries on occasion. It was stereo misery. The parents behind us tried to comfort their children by jiggling them and doing that thing you do with babies--blubbering their lips with their fingers as they made noise, like humming into a fan. The louder the crying, the louder the lip blubbering.
So, behind us were the jiggling fan-noise babies, and in front of us were the sticky dirty crying babies, one of which was now set on the floor of the filthy moving bus. My buddy tried to comfort and steady the poor kid while the BAD PARENT looked on, but it was a hopeless cause.
The stereo misery became so caustic, so toxic, so shocking, so absolutely hysterical, there was nothing to do but laugh. The band parent and I started laughing, and with each piercing cry, we laughed even harder. By the time we reached our hotel, we were crying ourselves, having laughed so hard.
It was the bus ride from hell. If we had had awards to pass out, BAD PARENT AWARDS and GOOD PARENTS AWARDS, we would have dispensed them that day between the hell and the crying and the laughing.
On one particularly hot day, after watching the steel band perform at Downtown Disney, one of my buddies and I hopped on a bus to ride the 25 minutes back to our hotel. We found comfortable seats and sat back to relax. At the next stop, a family joined us with two small children. My buddy, being a gentleman, gave up his seat for the father who was holding a sleepy two year old. The little boy's sister proceeded to pester the poor kid, making him fuss. The parents were gentle and reprimanded the pesky sister with inside voices and loving tones. Good parents.
At the next stop, two women climbed on, each with a giant folded stroller, a giant shopping bag, and a sticky baby in her arms. I gave up my seat for one of the mothers and stood in front of her. She was thankful and plopped down. Her baby, on the other hand, belted me right in the gut for my thoughtfulness. That's when the mother screamed at her. She was only about 14 months, I think, not really talking and just barely walking. Nice. We should have known we were in for trouble.
The other mother settled in across the aisle and handed a big sticky sucker to the mother in front of me. I was shocked to see this mother hand the big sticky sucker to the baby. The kid could poke out an eye. The baby stuck the thing in her mouth, then on her face, then in her hair, then on her mother's lap, then waved it around too close to me for my comfort. Then she turned the thing around and stuck the wooden stick at least 3-4 inches into her mouth. The mother ignored the potential choking, but I couldn't stand it. I pulled the stick out of the baby's mouth and handed the sucker to the mother, explaining that her baby was about to gag herself to death. My buddy just gritted his teeth. "Oh whatever," the mother said. Excuse me? BAD PARENT AWARD.
The two babies, on opposite sides of the bus cried, and my buddy and I stood for what we believed would be a long and unpleasant ride. We had no idea. Finally, two seats cleared, so I joined another band mother who happened to be riding with us, and we took the seats. Now the two crying babies were directly in front of us. We didn't realize there were two babies directly behind us. Within minutes, all four babies were crying, screaming piercing cries on occasion. It was stereo misery. The parents behind us tried to comfort their children by jiggling them and doing that thing you do with babies--blubbering their lips with their fingers as they made noise, like humming into a fan. The louder the crying, the louder the lip blubbering.
So, behind us were the jiggling fan-noise babies, and in front of us were the sticky dirty crying babies, one of which was now set on the floor of the filthy moving bus. My buddy tried to comfort and steady the poor kid while the BAD PARENT looked on, but it was a hopeless cause.
The stereo misery became so caustic, so toxic, so shocking, so absolutely hysterical, there was nothing to do but laugh. The band parent and I started laughing, and with each piercing cry, we laughed even harder. By the time we reached our hotel, we were crying ourselves, having laughed so hard.
It was the bus ride from hell. If we had had awards to pass out, BAD PARENT AWARDS and GOOD PARENTS AWARDS, we would have dispensed them that day between the hell and the crying and the laughing.
Comments
I try to avoid family oriented places for that reason. even though i have a family. go figure :))
I won't go off on one today as I'm outnumbered by parents here … I shall tiptoe quietly back to my own blog and mutter to myself.
Some people shouldn't, but who's say. I'd like to be the one to say, actually.
http://dinosaurmusings.blogspot.com/
The BAD PARENTS on your trip certainly give that statement credence!!!! What a nightmare.