Helicopter, helicopter, helicopter, helicopter, helicopter, helicopter, helicopter, helicopter…
I was driving to Lake City and Justin was in the back seat and feeling talkative. So he was rambling and I was making appropriate “uh-huh” noises as required, listening to him ramble. And then he started repeating the word “helicopter” over and over. And I didn’t think anything of it. And then….
“Adults can say bad words, Mommy.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But kids can’t say bad words.”
“Right.” (I know, riveting so far, but keep reading, I’m going somewhere with this….)
Helicopter, helicopter, helicopter, helicopter, helicopter, helicopter, helicopter, helicopter…
“If a kid swears, an adult has to say, ‘Do you want your mouth washed out with soap?’”
I chuckled and agreed.
“Helicopter, helicopter, helicopter, helicopter, helicopter…”
“But you can’t wash my mouth out now.”
“Helicopter, helicopter, helicopter, helicopter, helicopter, helicopter, helicopter, helicopter…”
“No, but you aren’t saying bad words.”
“Helicopter.”
“Why do kids have to say ‘hell’ when they say helicopter? Why is ‘hell’ in helicopter? You can’t wash my mouth out with soap. And I say ‘hell’ when I say helicopter. Helicopter, helicopter, helicopter, helicopter, helicopter, helicopter, helicopter, helicopter…”
That, of course, is when I wiped the hysterical tears from my eyes, shook my head and told myself, “You have to remember to blog about this.”
Or maybe, you just had to be there.
Thanks for playing.
Totally Unrelated
Yesterday was the day everyone was supposed to avoid buying gasoline. And I’ve heard arguments on both sides why this really doesn’t work, etc., and I’m not going to rehash it here.
But I did want to mention it because yesterday, driving into Grayling, I noticed the Admiral Gas Station was selling gasoline for $2.01 a gallon. That’s .12 cents cheaper than the next gas station, and even what Admiral had posted just days before. Could gas prices actually be going down, I wondered.
It wasn’t until I talked to my mom that she reminded me about the suggested boycott. I had a quarter tank of gas, and I needed to go to Roscommon, Houghton Lake and Grayling yesterday. Boycott or not boycott, whether it works or not, I was buying gas.
Even at $2.01 a gallon, I spent about $42 filling my tank. But as I walked into the gas station, I picked up a couple of 20 oz bottles of pop, a bag of chips and a Little Debbie. I wrote my check for almost $49. It was on my way to Roscommon that I got a better idea.
It is impossible for me to boycott gasoline. I live too far away from anything. It’s a 15-minute drive one way to buy groceries. I drive 40 miles one way to work, and more this week since I’ve been taking Justin to my mom’s house in Grayling. (My MIL is still in the UP.) And on Friday I’ll be driving an hour to West Branch. (I’d tell you the actual miles, but I don’t know them. I deal with time not miles.) It would require a major lifestyle change for me to give up my gasoline purchases. And I don’t want a major lifestyle change.
But I can give up the incidentals. I don’t need to buy the 20 oz bottles at the gas station. Or the chips. Or anything else that has incredible mark ups in the various convenience stores. They sell the same stuff at my local grocery store for a lot less. It just means I have to plan a little better. I’ll even give up the French Vanilla cappuchino (sp?) that I indulge in every once in a while. (Forgive me, I do not have the luxury of a Starbucks or a Tim Horton on every corner. I’d have to drive several hours to reach either. Yes I really do live in BFE.)
So that’s my pledge. I am no longer going to buy convenience items from gasoline stations. It’s not really a political protest per se. It’s just a smart way to save some money, because with my lifestyle, it looks like I’ll need it to buy some more gas.
