Category Archives: living the life

What I’ve learned in my second year as a bus parent

My little Chicklet turned two today, which means I’ve officially logged two years as a bus parent. Here’s some of what I’ve learned:

Ride time matters

In my child-free, car-free days, I could justify bus trips that took longer than driving by using my rides effectively.* I spent my bus time reading (meeeemories!), napping, working, checking messages, and et cetera. Lots of times, I just stared out the window, but even that I could justify as my quiet/thinking time.

When I travel with Chicklet, longer trip times are harder to justify. In the first place, I can’t use the rides to do something productive. It’s true that the time I spend with my daughter on the bus is usually quality time** (more about this shortly), but it’s work keeping her entertained on a 35-minute 4 ride up the hill from downtown–and even more work keeping her entertained (and safe–given her decreased tolerance for sitting still) during long waits between transfers.

And then, there’s the issue of her schedule. Until very recently, Chicklet’s naps did not interfere with our outings. She could easily sleep in her carrier and would regularly nap on the go: in the middle of a shopping trip, at a bus stop, on a long walk. These days, I’m too big to carry her in a pack, so naps outside of the house are close to impossible. (She sometimes falls asleep–with a little help–on the bus, but this cannot be counted on.) This means that our outing opportunities are relegated to two to three hours in the morning (assuming that we get out of the house very early) and about two hours in the afternoon (assuming we’re willing to deal with peak-hour crowds on the way home); we don’t have a lot of time to waste on late or long bus rides.

Chicklet rides in her own seat
What’s not to like about the 27?

The ride is entertainment enough (or, Who needs a minivan with a DVD player?)

I always bring a small number of books or toys on our outings, but I only use them on trips that last over 30 minutes (see above). There’s so much to keep Chicklet entertained on the bus! She helps to swipe my Orca card. We talk about what the windshield wipers do. We describe what we see in the pictures on the indoor ads. We watch the cars, boats, and trains*** as they pass. We point out her favorite landmarks. (Pratt Park! Space Needle! Mount Rainier!) Every time someone rings the bell, she looks up at the lighted “Stop Requested” sign, calls out all the letters she recognizes, then tells whomever will listen what’s going to happen next. (The driver will open the door, and “the people will get off.”)

Chicklet’s favorite bus pastime is talking to (and, unfortunately, about) the people who share our rides. She has something to say about nearly every person who crosses our path. So far, the statements have been benign (That’s a mommy and a baby. /He’s reading a book./ She has candy.), but I assume it’s only a matter of time before she inadvertently insults someone.

Chicklet waiting for the 48
Awaiting our chariot, aka “Metro’s Heavyweight”

Of course, along with all the enriching education that takes place on the bus, there’s also that other kind. In her two years of life, thanks mostly to the 4, Chicklet has heard more curse words (and more unique combinations of curse words) than most seasoned sailors. Miraculously, despite the fact that she regularly repeats, verbatim, conversations she overhears in transit, she has only once attempted to repeat a naughty word. Fortunately, I was able to convince her that she had misheard the young gentleman, and that he had actually said, “spit,” but sooner or later (preferably sooner), I’ll have to develop a more sophisticated strategy for dealing with the less desirable side of her bus education.

“Stuff” is still an issue

Though I rarely pack more than a few books and snacks, water, and hand sanitizer for our regular outings, there are (not infrequent) occasions when I need to transport items in addition to Chicklet and her bag. Most often, this is recently purchased (or borrowed) children’s clothing, but the examples are nearly infinite. To put it succinctly: Toddler + bag + stroller + stuff +bus (+ umbrella?) = misery.

There’s more, of course, which I will get to in due time. I still very much enjoy busing with my kid, and I’m still committed to my choice to be car-free. But, bus parenting is not a cinch, and certainly, it’s far more of a challenge than the car-free single life. We shall see what lessons year three (and baby number two!) will provide.

***

*Once, I had to give a talk in Kent. I spent the notoriously slow 150 ride to my destination writing my talking points. So, no time lost.
**This is an audio link. The interview starts at 43:00.
***Have I mentioned that Chicklet is obsessed with trains? Every time she sees a Link vehicle, or even a picture of one, she hollers, “A light rail!” and then begs to ride.

PlayPlay

Podcast: Play in new window | Download

The wisdom of bus ladies

When I was pregnant with Chicklet, folks I met on buses and at stops regularly inquired about the gender of my bus-bundle-to-be. Some of them (almost always middle-aged to older women) were sure they already knew. “It’s a girl,” they announced confidently, almost to a woman. “I can tell because of the way you’re carrying/how tired you look/the curl in your hair.” (OK, they didn’t mention my hair, but I’m pretty sure my fingernails came up a time or two.) Back then, I knew they were right (since I’d chosen to find out Chicklet’s gender) and was duly impressed by their powers. How do they do that?*

Nerd and I have chosen not to find out the gender of Bus Baby #2, and, for some reason, I haven’t been getting as many (really, any) bus-based gender predictions. Or, at least, I hadn’t. Last Friday, as Chicklet and I were waiting to board the 8**, we moved aside to let a middle-aged bus lady off. She took one look at us and exclaimed, “Oh wow! A baby boy!” I was confused at first, since Chicket is a girl (though she was wearing a raincoat with a hood) and not really a baby anymore, until the woman put her hand on my belly and gave it a vigorous rub. “How wonderful,” she said. “Now you’ll have one of each.”

And so, it seems, it is settled. The power of the bus lady cannot be denied.

Guess this’ll narrow down our name options.

*I need to know, since, in the not-too-distant future, I will be a middle-aged bus lady.
**Have I mentioned how much I love that the 8 runs every day now? Sunday afternoon cravings for greasy fries (and tartar!) from Dick’s can finally be indulged.

Eastbound 14 (et al) stop, 5th & Jackson

A 60-ish, somewhat disheveled man approaches and addresses me in several languages (Amharic, Spanish, Italian) trying to figure out which I speak. We finally settle on a mix of French and English, and (thanks to my growing belly) immediately start talking parenthood. He tells me I remind him of his daughter, who was recently married. “It was in the New York Times,” he says, fishing a crumpled piece of newsprint out of his wallet.

He points to some text under the photo of the handsome, smiling couple, the part that tells about the bride’s family in Seattle, then pulls out his license to show me that his name matches the name of the father listed in the announcement.

“See? That’s me,” he says. “Me.”

We talk for a few minutes longer, about Chicklet, and my due date, and how I am feeling.

Abruptly, he pulls a wilted, slightly blackened red rose from his coat pocket, thrusts it into my hand, and prepares to leave.

“Take care of the babies,” he says, smiling. “Take care of your precious babies.”

His eyes are filled with tears.

Happiness is…

Sliding onto the 4 in a basic black dress and your favorite vintage shoes* after an evening of Dwele and chocolate cake at Triple Door with your love, only to find that that 4 is being driven by none other than Smooth Jazz, who’s broadcasting just the right tunes to help you (and your love) continue the Triple Door/Dwele vibe all the way home.

* We won’t speak of the incident running for–and almost missing–the 27 (pregnant!) in said vintage shoes on the way to Triple Door.

The obligatory (busing in) hot weather post

In the summer, I add an item to my long list of reasons to avoid the 4: Trolleys don’t have AC. Apparently, neither do most of Metro’s “wireless” coaches.

I’ve spent the last decade believing that all of Metro’s diesel buses were equipped with air conditioning. I’ve spent the last couple of months believing that all of my drivers were either mean; abiding by some official recession fuel-savings policy; or really, really cold natured. What I learned today, my friends, is that only 30% of Metro’s fleet is air conditioned. (Wonder if a perk of being OOY is driving a bus with AC?)

I’ve ridden on about five air conditioned buses (out of a zillion) since mid-June, and I’m starting to get a little cranky. I’m not mad at Metro for not investing in buses with AC*; we don’t (or at least, we didn’t) need it much in Seattle. I’m just hot.** Hot walking to buses. Hot waiting for buses. Hot riding on buses. Hot walking from buses. And, like almost everyone else in the city, hot at home.

Thank God for the library.

* I am, however, a bit curious about where else these older coaches were sold. Alaska perhaps?
**For those who are interested, the agency has a few (rather obvious) beat-the-heat tips on its website.

Car-free with a kid: the challenges

I’ve spent the past 20 months (well, on and off anyway–I know not everyone’s as interested in hearing about my kid as I am in talking about her) telling you how much I enjoy busing with Chicklet. And I really do. I love spending one-on-one time on our travels. I love having extra time to read and talk to her. I love experiencing the excitement of riding through her eyes. I love that I am teaching her many of my values–conservation, equality, community engagement, thrift, to name a few–without having to say a word.

But, you know all that stuff. You also know that I wouldn’t have started this post reiterating everything I love about my car-free, child-full life, unless I was about to tell you about something I don’t love.

There are, in fact, several things I don’t love about car-free parenting. As improbable is it seems (given that most of my life is spent not driving) the issue that causes me the greatest amount of inconvenience, stress, and anxiety is: car seat drama.

You see, although we don’t own a car, there are occasions (about once a month or every other month) when we need to use one. In the old days, this was a cinch: 1. Reserve car 2. Walk to car 3. Drive car 4. Return car.

These days? Not so much. The new routine: 1) Reserve car* 2. Schlep Chicklet, Chicklet’s car seat, and Chicklet’s stuff to car 3. Install car seat in car while ensuring that Chicklet doesn’t push any of the car’s buttons or make a beeline for the busy parking lot where the car is parked 4. Strap Chicklet into car seat 5. Drive car 6. Return car 7. Remove Chicklet and unstrap seat 8. Schlep Chicklet, seat, and stuff back home.

If Nerd is around for the car trip, the process is somewhat easier, since one of us can go get the car (sans Chicklet) and bring it back to our place to install the seat. Still, it wastes precious time that we’re paying for.

And I’m not finished.

On my father’s 70th birthday, the family met at a restaurant on Alki Beach to celebrate. After dinner, everyone wanted to head to my dad’s place–not far from the restaurant, but too far to walk–for dessert. Because the bus service in that part of town is abysmal, there’s no service from Alki to my dad’s place (at Seacrest) in the evening. Pre-child, this would not have been an issue. Nerd and I would have ridden to my dad’s with some family member or other, and, after dinner, walked up the hill to catch the 55 or hitched a ride downtown with my brother, who would have been heading that way anyway. But, since we had Chicklet with us, and since we didn’t happen to bring her 15-pound car seat along on our outing, we missed the after-party.

The next Saulter family gathering was for Father’s Day bowling at West Seattle Bowl. This time, we anticipated a post-bowling trip to Pegasus and so dragged Chicklet’s enormous seat along with us on the two-bus trip to the bowling alley. With two parents and two fairly empty Sunday-afternoon buses, we managed it. Certainly, though, it’s not a reasonable regular practice.

And then there was the time back in November of 2008, when we attended an election party at our friends’ place in Kirkland. On the way home (per usual, we had to leave earlier than everyone else to catch the last bus), we miscalculated the location of the bus stop and missed the route we were supposed to take back to Seattle. Pre-Chicklet, we would have called a cab. That night, we were forced to take a convoluted series of buses and spend a lot of time waiting outside in the dark. Did I mention that it was cold, and we had a baby with us?

I’ll spare you all of my other examples, since I think you get the picture.

Yes, I do know about the car seat/stroller combo (wish we’d done our homework before we bought the one we have), but that only really solves the Zipcar problem. What I need someone to invent (and pronto!) is a collapsible, portable car seat that a bus parent can carry in her bus chick bag–a sort of “car seat for emergencies.” Who’s got me?

***

* * If the only car within reasonable walking distance of our home is reserved, I skip the trip. Trying to time a rental around a bus schedule and then drag the seat and kid on the bus (and still walk at least a couple of blocks) is just more trouble than it’s worth.

A nice ride if you can get it

This evening, we Saulter siblings (well, three of us, anyway)–along with our respective SOs and Chicklet–convened in our original neighborhood of West Seattle to celebrate our father‘s 70th birthday. The plan was to meet at a restaurant on Alki–as good an excuse as any for Bus Nerd and I to try the Water Taxi shuttle for the first time. (Yes, I’ve been riding the Water Taxi for years, but since my dad lives across the street from the Seacrest dock, and I only ride my favorite floating bus to visit him*, I’ve never had occasion to use the shuttle. I digress.)

Some advice to Water Taxi riders who have to get somewhere (for example, a restaurant that doesn’t hold reservations and won’t seat a party until everyone has arrived) by a specific time: Get your tails off the boat and to the shuttle stop ASAP, or have a backup plan.

We were somewhere in the middle of the pack of passengers disembarking, and by the time we made it to the shuttle, it was full. The driver told us she only had room for one more person, and–oh yeah–hers was the last shuttle run that evening. Have I mentioned that bus service from Seacrest to the beach is all but nonexistent? Back in the old days, Nerd and I would have probably just taken a cab, since we didn’t have time for a long walk, but, of course, we had Chicklet in tow and no car seat.

Fortunately, we had a rarely available option: nearby family. I rode the shuttle with Chicklet while Nerd hightailed it to my dad’s place to hitch a ride with him. The reservation was preserved, and a good time was had by all, including–and especially–the guest of honor.

P.S. – For those who are wondering: We took the 56 home.

*I usually ride the bus to other destinations in West Seattle, since riding the Water Taxi tends to take longer. Pier 55 is a decent walk from 3rd Avenue, and the WT schedule rarely lines up well with the schedules of the buses I ride downtown.

A bus-chick-friendly holiday

The Bus Fam has just (as in, 30 minutes ago) returned from another car-free mini-vacation to Vancouver. (More on the trip sometime next week.) The Friday train up there was sold out, so we had to take Amtrak’s overflow bus (so not the same). We did get to ride the train home today, which was especially cool, since it happens to be National Train Day.

A poster for National Train Day at King Street Station
A poster at King Street Station

Not a bad day to travel for a family of transit geeks. They gave Chicklet a sticker and everything.

On riding and race, part I

One of the (many) interesting side effects of riding the bus is that it causes me to think a lot about race–and not just because I regularly field questions about my ethnic makeup.

As a black/biracial woman, living without a car makes me very aware of my brownness. Sometimes this is a good thing–like when I’m on the 4, surrounded by other brown people, and we’re having a bus-wide discussion about Barack Obama or fried turkey or Seattle back in the day, and I feel that same sense of camaraderie and community that I feel in my beautician’s shop on a busy Saturday afternoon, when she’s running behind and the line for the shampoo bowl is four deep–to say nothing of the dryer or her actual chair–but everybody’s laughing and passing the babies around and running out for snacks because we’re all in it together, and it’s going to be fine.

Sometimes, though, this is not such a good thing– like when I am dismissed or completely ignored because of preconceived notions about who I am, what I have, and how much I know–and thus reminded that to bus while brown in this society is to be invisible.

If my six years of carfreedom have taught me anything, it’s that there are reasons (or, I should say, more reasons than those I already knew about before I took the plunge) that the vast majority of people who are car-free by choice are also white.

Browne Molyneaux of LA’s The Bus Bench talked about this in her recent* interview with Green LA Girl.

The downside to being car free is that as a person of color is that you are not viewed as eco or green when you don’t have a car. … Being black and not having a car means you are poor. And being viewed as poor can limit your opportunities.

I remember when I first went car free I applied for a job and proudly stated that I was car free. … You would think if you can do a job and if you were competent and you were applying for an environmentally oriented job that not having a car would be an asset, but being black and not having car has given people a tangible reason to discriminate against me in regards to employment.

[Being a person of color who is car-free] doesn’t come off nearly as cool as being a white guy with a bike. This is just a harsh fact owing to prejudice and preconceived notions.

I absolutely agree and would only add that the stigma and prejudice are magnified a gazillionfold if you are a car-free person of color with children.** I’ve got nothing but love for “white guys on bikes” (He-ey Chris, Scott, and Fulvio!), but I very much appreciate the perspective of LA’s brown Browne.

*”Recent” in Bus Chick’s world = within the last year.
** More on this–and on the other reasons people of color rarely choose to be car-free–in a future post.