home from the Women’s March. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, we were in tee-shirts and sunglasses, outside in January, in Seneca Falls, NY. Myself, my youngest daughter, my oldest daughter and my grandbaby. We marched, we listened, we were a part of history. And then, we started walking back to the car.
Now, we took a school bus shuttle from the parking lot to the March, so we were hoping that we would be able to catch a school bus shuttle back to the parking lot, rather than walking the 2 miles. And as luck would have it, a school bus shuttle was just rounding the corner, headed towards the parking lot! And that is where my luck ran out.
We flagged down the bus, he stopped right there in the middle of a left hand turn to open the doors and let us on. What a swell guy! On goes my oldest daughter with my grandbaby, and then my youngest daughter hops on and there is me, on the curb with the baby stroller that is FILLED with bags and outerwear. A diaper bag, a backpack, a bag with ice packs and bottles of breast milk, 3 winter coats, hats, scarves and random baby gear and toys. And cheerios. Cheerios just sprinkled in because babies.
Me, in my floor length hippiefied skirt that I trip on whenever I have to go up stairs and this stroller of nonsense, trying to quickly fold it up and get on the damn bus. I had 3 kids, I am well versed in how strollers work, but apparently now that I am a Nana, I have lost all of my super mom powers and I am relegated to stuffing tissues up my sleeve and always having a fuzzy lifesaver in my pocket. Because I tried to collapse the stroller with everything on it. Did Not Work.
I yell for my youngest to come help me. I throw the majority of bags at her and she climbs back on the bus. I try to collapse the damn stroller again. It gets smaller but it doesn’t click shut. So, I just hold it together and attempt to board the bus. By this point, I am sweating, the bus driver is confused and my kids are rolling their eyes so hard their faces are gonna stick like that. I trip on my skirt up all 3 stairs with the partially open stroller and I try really hard to force it on to the bus. It won’t fit. I stuffed it as far as I could onto the bus. I squashed the bus driver and then I realized that I was not actually on the bus and now the stroller was blocking me from the seats. I had been giggling and muttering to myself the whole time but this realization that I would have to get off the bus and try again nearly made me lose it. Off I go, try, in vain, to make the stroller smaller, get on the bus, trip on my skirt getting up the stairs and … nope.
By now, I am full on laughing like a lunatic, the bus driver has been watching all of this with morbid fascination and my kids have sunken thru the floor. I have effectively gotten the stroller so stuck that I am leaning on the bus driver and I can’t get to the seats. Ok, so, the only solution is to climb over the stroller or share the bus driver’s seat and help him drive the bus. I opt for Plan A. Around about this time, I notice that the rest of the bus is enthralled with my one woman show. There’s some tittering and ha ha’s and even a couple of “whaaaaa?????”. I’m not deterred. I’ll march 2 miles for a good cause but I’ll be damned if I will walk 2 miles for no good reason.
So, I hike up my skirt, I get one leg over the stroller, get my skirt stuck on one of the wheels, I do a half- calf -triple- latte-jete-pas-de-bourree, let out a “Son of a NUTCRACKER!” and fall into the seat on my left. Ta DA!!!
I am pretty sure I was the full embodiment of why we need a Women’s March.