So the husband and the tall kid are off to get the kid’s green card. No, he’s not an illegal alien (though we do sometimes wonder about the woo-woo alien thing). He turns twelve in July and at twelve he’s gotta have a green card proving he took the ATV safety course.
Helmet and goggle fit checks are done. Both boys got new riding jerseys and roost protectors. And wasn’t that fun? We force ourselves to allow our children to make their own choices (which is dumb since the “Because I’m the other mother and I said so” thing works perfectly well) and this is what they went with (just to drive me crazy): The tall kid has a green machine, blue jersey, red roost protector, green gloves, blue goggles, and a black and silver helmet. The short kid has a blue machine, yellow and brown jersey, black roost protector, blue gloves, red goggles and a black helmet.
I will be taking all of our riding pictures on the black & white setting this year so as not to color-blind viewers. And then there’s the husband who has a green machine bearing a blue sticker that says “Ride Naked, it brings color to your cheeks”.
My mission for today, should I choose to accept it, is to wash and wax the Mustang, which is so incredibly filthy from storage it keeps trying to creep under the tarp with the 4-wheelers from embarrassment. Of course, it’s one of those days—cool and slightly overcast. Which is, naturally, a pisser day for handwaxing. But…will it rain? The last two times I handwaxed this car Mother Nature waited until I had it totally coated, then pissed all over it.
And what the hell happened to the young generation, anyway? When I was a kid, the boys were trolling the neighborhoods with lawn mowers, taking five bucks a yard. The little “entrepreneurs” in this neighborhood want $30-40, and that’s just to mow. Apparently, weed-whacking, trimming, raking, etc are a la carte. Last summer, I asked one of the pre-teens how much he’d take to wash and wax the car since he drooled on it so regularly, and he told me $50!
I’m going to need more coffee.