Sunday Evening Memories

Tonight we made some fun memories.

My husband Paul decides near dinner time that my plans for homemade chicken fettucini soup will take too long. He wants five-for-five from Arby's. Sarah and Stephen want to practice driving, even though neither has had driver's ed. Joel also wants to go "frivin'" although his personal vehicle is a lime green tricycle.

So three of my kids pile into the van with us. We drive through Arby's and get the five Arby melts for five bucks, plus curly fries and drinks. Paul hands over the coupon, a few dollars, and then we head to Retro Freeze. My husband is a coupon-aholic. I'm sure he'll want us to pay for his funeral with a coupon when the time comes. Anyway, he hands me a buy 1/ get one half price coupon for iced coffee drinks. One for me to share with him, one for Sarah. He sends her and me in together. We place our order and wander around the 18 square foot dessert shop to pass time.

While the girl is making our second drink, in walks Stephen with Joel. He
Sarah and I have to pretend we don't know our boys, because we are "separate customers." I feel funny being cheap. I don't mind saving money, but I don't like to present coupons anywhere except the grocery store. But I do, out of respect for the man of my dreams. So the drink gals are saying, "Hi, cutie" (and I assume they're talking to Joel,not Stephen, since they're speaking babytalk). I again try not to turn my head. Stephen is inching closer. I slip him a five while the girl's head is bent over into the 3 gallon tub of cookie dough ice cream. He says, "I got it" and shows me a wad of ones in his tight fist. We are so coy.

The girl rings up my full price drink (which has caffeine) but admits she can't figure out half of $2.71 for the second one. I say, "Well, one thirty-five is half of two seventy, so she suggests $1.36. It's a deal.

Sarah and I walk out together, but I wait for my boys where the employees can't see me. Stephen, I see as I peek through the window,dutifully and unabashedly presents his coupoon for ice cream cones: buy one/get one half price. Uh-oh, Counter Girl's got to figure out half again. And right at closing. Why do people do this to her? Why can't she work at Starbucks where the cash register computes the prices automatically?

Am I neurotic about this coupon phobia? Am I a coupon legalist? Who really CARES that we are one family trying to get two deals? Out comes Stephen, gripping a sloppy tower of ice cream in one hand, change in the other. "Mom, can you take Joel's hand?"

We pile again into the van, and head to the playground. As we approach the sandlot, I say to Joel, "Do you remember who you came to this playground with?" I thought he'd say, "Timmy," from the last play date there. Instead he surprised me and said, "Teddy and Robby." (Cousins from Texas). They came in May!

"Who else?" I asked, again thinking he'd say Timmy. "Pappaw and Ima" and then I remembered, yes, they brought him there last time they babysat him all day (which was before te paly date).

Joel thinks the long "swidin' board" is 'cary. Sarah, bless her 16 year old heart, slides down it first to prove to him it's not. Not just once, three times. He sticks with his conviction. She sticks with her wedgie.

Stephen sits in the red moon-shaped adult swing, while Paul and I sit on the bench a couple yards behind him. Paul picks up mulch, the heavier pieces, and chucks them one by one at the back of Stephen's head. He misses. He tries again. People watch. Yes, we are grown-ups. We are parents. We are making memories. Paul tries again. He misses again. Stephen's oblivious. Paul's a bad aim.

We all go to the swings. Daddy pushes Joel. Joel pushes Daddy. Noooo, Joel! Look out! Whew! Good thing Daddy has long legs and a father's heart or you'd be flat as fettucini yourself and we could toss you into the soup. Daddy puts Joel in his lap and swings high, Joel with a broad smile on his face and a death grip on the chains. Stephen swings beside them, saying "Don't leave till we've crashed." Wonderful reason to stop.


Next we go find a place to let the kids practice driving. Adjacent to McDonald's is a medical facility,complete with handicap spaces (lots of them, appropriately enough). Stephen drives first. He's my height, but that looks so short in a captain's chair. He adjusts his seat and then the mirrors. "What should I be able to see?" "Not yourself," we joke. He tries to pull the gear shift down.

Wait. Step on the brake first, son, and look around. He's driving so slowly I tell him he drives like his grandmother. He chuckles and speeds up. We drive around back and Joel says, "Hit the monsters, Stephen! Hit the monsters!" Stephen backs into a handicap space and Joel exclaims, "Good shob! You hit the monster!" (Those wheelchair icons on the pavement look a whole lot like monsters, don't they???)

Stephen, being the baby of the family for ten years before Joel, has that mentality that everyone is looking out for him. And we do. We have to. He doesn't look out for himself. Or other cars. Or mailboxes, sign posts, or pedestrians. Which is why we chose a professional building's parking lot on a sunday night. Few casualties posing there. Whenever he makes the van lurch, he says, "This transmission!" Oh, good. The kid's been driving for nine minutes and he's already started filling a bag with excuses.

Sarah's turn. Much taller, she appears in command of the driver's seat. She's not.
Paul and I need chiropractic treatment first thing in the morning. She says the pedal's too sensitive. So are the brakes. So is my neck, my nerves, my fender. No, not really. She is getting the hang of it. Reverse is her favorite gear.
"Turn and look over. your. shoulder " I coach, biting my ninth nail.
"Zo," says Paul, "there's no one here."
"Ya never know, honey, don't assume."
"Mom, that's why you can't sleep at night. You assume every possible thing."
"I thought it was because I take long naps."
"That too."
wE go around back and she also runs over monsters. I tell her they surveillance cameras there. Stephen believes me and says let's go.

Joel's turn. Yippee! He wants to do it himself. "Move over, Daddy!"
"Daddy has to do the pedals."
"Why?"
"Cuz you can't reach them."
"Yes I can" and starts to demonstrate.
"No, Joel, you get to do the steering wheel, Daddy gets to do the pedals."

We take off. Like a jet. Paul really believes that pedestrians are nowhere around,
This night, by God's grace, they're not. He picks up speed. We round a landscaped cement area with a street light in the middle. Cool. Let's straighten out. Let's,...okay, go around in another circle. Whee! Joel's giggling. Paul's grinning like a daredevil on a rollercoaster. Round and round we go. I'm getting dizzy, I say. Round again. Need a Dramamine, I say. Round again, fast, fast, fast. "Don't hit the curve!" Joel tells himself. "Yay! I hit the monsters!" he says, running over several wheelchairs painted on the parking lot.

Times up, Daddy announces. "More! More!" Joel says, gripping the wheel like he gripped the swing chains earlier.

Don't leave till we've crashed? is what I'm thinking.
"Not tonight, honey," Paul tells the straw-haired three-year-old Nascar driver in his lap.
"Maybe next Sunday."


We came home happy, dizzy, and whiplashed. It's been a good day.