The wheels on the bus go round and round
I was reading Dooce recently (Ok, not RECENTLY I've read her for a while now - every day) and noticed that she?s been talking about traveling with little ones. This brought back some memories of mine that I thought would be fun to share.

I spent 10 years in Wyoming with my Mom and Step-Dad while most of the rest of my family lived California. Because of this, about once a year we would journey to California, and because we were po? folk we would either drive or take Greyhound.

This was before the airline deregulation, and because of that air travel was expensive and the people on the bus were a much broader spectrum of society then they usually are today. But it wasn?t any more comfortable. We would get on a bus one day, and usually spend two nights on board before arriving at our destination on the third day out.

The trip I?m thinking of in particular, was with my Mom, my brother who was about three, my other brother who was about one, and me. I was probably eleven. Even though well planned, the trip had it?s ?moments?. We?re talking three and one year old little boys here, and though we tried to keep them calm and entertained, they at one time or another were to be found, climbing on the seats, running up and down the isles and/or driving a car across some stranger?s knee.

Most folks were rather patient. It probably helped that my mom was young and pretty and obviously worn out. One man was particularly kind. When the three year old sat in the seat next to him, and then fell asleep he didn?t say a word. When he wiggled and squirmed and, as a three year old who?s sleeping usually does, stretched out to take all the available space he simply let him sprawl across his lap. When my brother peed in his sleep and left a urine smelling wet spot down the front of his pants? he only screamed a little.