Tag Archives: chicklet

Chicklet’s future (fingers crossed)

I spotted this book-loving young bus chick on a southbound 48 (yes, I do ride other routes) the other day.

A book-loving bus chick
BIG book, little person

I was planning to ask her what she was reading on my way out, but she got off before I did. My guess? Based on the book’s size and the intensity of her focus: Lord of the Rings. Which reminds me: A few weeks ago, on the 14, I saw a bus chick of about the same age with her nose buried Return of the King.

Looks like the future of buschickhood (buschickdom? buschickery?) is in good hands.

And speaking of crafts…

On our 48 ride home yesterday, a very kind bus driver gave Chicklet a page to color. She (the bus driver) had a whole folder full of these:

Chicklet's bus masterpiece
Chicklet’s masterpiece, completed post-ride. Limited (but appropriate!) color palette provided by Mom.

And, I assume, she dispensed them to other pint-sized riders throughout the day. Nice touch. Now all they need is Metro-themed crayons.

Update, 2/9:

Another ride (with the same driver), another picture:

Picture
My 16-month old artiste
Picture
Happy she got to choose her own colors this time

I love riding on the coloring-page-woman’s bus. She’s friendly and helpful to everyone, remembers passengers from one day to the next, and knows a lot about the city and the route she drives. She even has a sign in her front window that says, “I love my job.” (Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to get a photo of it.)

We can tell, Ms. Bus Driver. We can tell.

What I’ve learned in my first year as a bus parent (the condensed version)

Chick and Chicklet
Riding partners (photo by: Bus Hero)

Planning is essential.
The single biggest difference between being a bus parent and being a car parent is the amount of mental energy that’s required to make it through the day efficiently, productively, and free of stress. Some examples:

• Packing: Chicklet and I travel with one bag. In it we must carry everything we will need while we’re out: meals and snacks; books; diapers, diaper wraps, and wipes; an umbrella; a change of clothing, lotion, antibacterial gel, library passports… you get the picture. Unlike car moms, I can’t afford to bring anything I don’t need, but I also can’t afford to be two bus rides from home with a hungry, cold, or wet baby.
• Timing (part I): When possible, I arrange long bus trips during Chicklet’s naptime. She is a pro at napping on the go (in fact, she prefers bus naps to bed naps), and I far prefer peace (and perhaps even a few minutes of grown-up reading) to 20+ minutes of bored-Chicklet management.
• Timing (part II): It’s hard for any parent to be out the door on time, and a bus parent has to be out the door at an exact time. I always start getting Chicklet ready long before it’s time to go, and we still end up leaving the house in a rush, just in time to catch our bus.
• Errands: For many reasons, I do my best to minimize shopping. Unfortunately (even with groceries covered), some errands are unavoidable, and bus errands with a baby can be tough. Not only do they require meticulous planning (see above), but (hands-free carrier or not) it’s hard to carry anything of significance home with you. We do our Craigslist pickups (et cetera) during off-peak hours, or (very occasionally) we rent a Zipcar. But even “Zipping” is more of a challenge with a kid, since it requires me to schlep Chicklet and her ginormous car seat down the street to the car and then (correctly) install the seat before we go anywhere.

Comfort is key.
As a childless bus chick, I advocated shoes that were comfortable and cute. Today, I say: Cute, schmute! When I’m traveling with Chicklet, it’s all about comfort. (Hey, you try covering the pavement miles in heeled boots with a 20-pound weight strapped on.) And yes, I did purchase a pair of all-purpose walking shoes from one of those earthy stores I used to make fun of.

Picture
Comfywalking shoes, purchased at that earthy store near Westlake

Crying is not an option.
If you take a cranky baby on a car trip, you’re the only one who has to endure the howling. Cranky babies on buses, on the other hand, share their howling with dozens of innocent bystanders. Because of this, I consider it my responsibility to keep Chicklet content and well-behaved for the duration of every ride. This sometimes requires effort (ah, how I miss those carefree days of naps and novels!) but is required for good bus citizenship.

On the plus side:

Car free is gear free. (or, Who needs a baby travel system?)
[I ain’t one to hawk products, but] There is a special place in heaven for the inventor of the Ergo Baby. I’ve already listed the many reasons I love this carrier, and I love it more every day I use it. It has been the single most important factor in my (and my child’s) comfort and general enjoyment of busing this year, and I’m fairly confident it will serve us well until she’s at least two. And speaking of…

Busing means bonding.
Attachment parents–listen up: Unlike car moms, who have to strap their kids into car seats, I get to ride face to face with my chicklet. We read, talk, cuddle, make new friends, and watch the world together.

Bus moms are buff moms.
A year* after waddling to the hospital to deliver, I’m back at my pre-pregnancy weight (after gaining a wee bit–OK, a lot–more than my doctor recommended), and I haven’t counted a single calorie or even considered visiting a gym. In fact, aside from a handful of trips to the local track, I haven’t made a special effort to exercise. Believe me, my life as a bus parent is exercise enough.

I’ve made plenty of adjustments this year, but then, what new parent doesn’t make adjustments? The good news is, Chicklet has not been deprived of any advantage or experience that is available to the children of car-owning parents, yet she’s been enriched and educated in many ways that car kids have not. I can honestly say that the benefits (to my family and to the planet) of my first year bus parenting far outweigh any challenges. Bring on the next 17!

* This actually happened around the 10-month mark, but who’s counting?

Happy birthday, Chicklet!

In her first year of life, my child has ridden the following routes:

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 12, 13, 14, 16, 17, 18, 21, 23, 25, 26, 27, 36, 41, 44, 48, 54, 55, 56, 60, 66, 70, 74, 134, 150, 174, 194, 230, 255, 358, 545, 550, 554, 590–not to mention the Monorail, Puyallup Fair shuttle, Elliott Bay Water Taxi, Detroit People Mover, Amtrak, Portland Streetcar, and a few Portland bus routes.

Chicklet at 50 weeks

How I know Chicklet is a true BCiT:

Yesterday, we met my friend Kelley and her baby daughter Evan for our weekly walk/lunch at Green Lake. After lunch, I took a credit card out of my wallet to pay our bill. Chicklet, in her custom of naming everything she sees, pointed at the card and announced (with great enthusiasm), “Buhpash!”*

And then there was this morning, when we three headed downtown on the 27 (eventual destination: Seattle Children’s Theater). As soon as we sat down, Chicklet reached for my bag. “Bik!”** she demanded. “Bik! Bik!”

Indeed.

Chicklet on Halloween
Our seasoned bus rider, celebrating Halloween at Daddy’s office (48 + 545) party

Translations:
*Bus pass
**Book

Doin’ the Puyallup, bus-fam style

The last time I went to the Puyallup Fair was the summer before I left for college. I took my youngest brother, who was nine at the time, and I don’t remember much about it–except that it was my last chance to spend QT with my “baby” before I moved away from home and that the ride down there (in my dad‘s trusty Toyota pickup) was really long.

Today Chicklet, Nerd, and I did the Puyallup as a family (yes, I realize it doesn’t get much more lentement), and thanks to Pierce Transit, we did it our favorite way: on the bus.

Our itinerary:

1. 27 from home to Third & Seneca
2. 594 from Second & University to Tacoma Dome Station (This was our first time taking the 594. Talk about a comfortable ride!)
3. Pierce Transit’s Puyallup Fair Shuttle from Tacoma Dome Station to the fairgrounds (The shuttle also serves several other Pierce County locations.)

Total travel time, from front door to fair entrance: 1.5 hours (not much longer than driving, given the traffic, and we didn’t have to hassle with event traffic/parking)

Total cost, which included fare upgrades for my pass and Bus Nerd’s ticket on the shuttle: $3.00 (a heck of a lot cheaper than driving)

Waiting for Puyallup Fair shuttle
Waiting for our chariot
A view of the Mountain, from the PF shuttle
The view on the way there
Puyallup Fair bus parking
Bus parking at the fair
Chicklet napping in the Ergo
Chicklet’s version of a car nap

And speaking of cars…

Car stroller
These were available for rent at the fairgrounds
Cars for sale at the fair
And these were available for sale

Thanks to ST for the fast, comfortable ride to Tacoma and to PT for providing alt transpo to the event. We didn’t have any trouble or setbacks getting to and fro, so I don’t have any major complaints, but it certainly could have been easier to plan the trip. I had to use three different websites (ST’s, PT’s, and the PF’s) to find all the information I needed. (PT’s rider information line was the number listed for questions, but the office is closed Sundays.)

The fair wasn’t exactly my flavor (and not just because there was a car dealership in the middle of the grounds), but Chicklet certainly seemed to enjoy herself. She got to practice some of her favorite words–piggies!, cow!, kids!–and experience all kinds of new sights and sounds. For those of you who are interested in doing the same, the fair–and the shuttle–run until the 21st.

Chicklet’s (second) favorite bus ad

On a recent 8 excursion, Chicklet awoke from her nap (she is fond of napping in the Ergo) directly underneath Metro’s “chill on the cell usage” ad.

Too much. Too loud. Please be courteous when using your cell phone on the bus.

After checking it out for a few seconds, she giggled, then turned to me and said one of her latest words: “teeth.”

Funny, that’s what I think when I see it, too.

Chicklet and the 27, part II

On Wednesday, as Chicklet and I settled into a seat on our favorite route, an elderly woman I had never seen before sat down next to us, looked at Chicklet like she knew her, and said, “I just saw your uncle over at the University of Washington.”

I was about to tell her that she had us confused with another bus riding mother-daughter team when she said, “I had to get a few x-rays and some work on my crown.”

Aha! She had indeed seen Chicklet’s uncle, my brother Joel, an almost-dentist who sees patients at the UW’s dental clinic. But how did she know that? Good question.

Around this time last year, Joel told me he had a patient who knew me. “I see her on the bus sometimes,” she had told him. “Isn’t she expecting?”

Back then, I wondered briefly how the woman had known Joel and I were related (we don’t look that much alike–do we?) and then forgot about it. Until Wednesday, that is, when I came face to face with this same patient, a bus chick whose powers of observation put my own to shame. (She’s got a few years on me, but still.)

Her name is Ida (I should say Miss Ida, as she is my elder, and I don’t know her last), and she recently returned from a trip to Arkansas to visit family. She rides the 27 and the 48 (among many others) and sees Nerd, Chicklet, and me out and about around the neighborhood. She even knows which church we attend. Miss Ida is enjoying the summer and doesn’t mind the heat at all, especially compared to what she dealt with in Arkansas. Her July Sears bill apparently got lost in the vacation-mail shuffle, so she was headed to the store (off at 3rd and Yesler, transfer to the 21) to pay it in person. She never, ever pays bills late.

Chicklet pulled out all her best tricks to impress our new friend (some of her favorites: clapping like crazy and hitting herself on the head) and was rewarded with an appreciative cheek-pinch as Miss Ida stood to go.

“It was good to finally meet you,” she said to both of us.

Oh, yes. Yes it was.

Not even candy paint and big wheels can compare.

Chicklet and the 27, part I

It seems that little Chicklet is a bit of an early talker. At eight months and some change, she said her first word (aside from “dada” and “mama,” that is): “kitty.” This is somewhat of a surprise, since we don’t have any pets, and she’s only seen a few living, breathing cats in her short life. (Our neighbors’ cat, Otis, is apparently pretty inspiring.)

My first word (at about the same age) was “more.” It is a concept that has defined my life ever since (you can never have too much chocolate ice cream or listen to “If I Was Your Girlfriend” too many times in a row), so it will be interesting to see how (or if) “kitty” comes to define Chicklet. Maybe she’ll grow up to be a cat lady. Or a veterinarian. Or a person who’s into leopard prints.

But I digress.

What I want to tell you about is Chicklet’s second word, which–I swear on The Book–was “bus.”

This morning, as she breakfasted on homemade applesauce and pseudo-Cheerios, the 27 stopped at a light outside our kitchen window.

Me (for the kajillionth time since her birth): “Rosa, see the bus?”
Chicklet (for the first time ever): “Bup.”
Me (incredulous): “Bus?”
Chicklet (emphatic): “Bup!”

She repeated it all morning. “Bup,” when she wanted more applesauce, “bup,” to get out of her high chair, and again (perhaps to restore my belief that she actually understands what the word means) when the 942 passed. Since then, she’s been saying it every time she sees or hears a bus, which, given the location of our home and our preferred mode of transportation, is pretty much constantly.

Such a smart girl. Before we know it, she’ll be memorizing schedules.

The things she carried, part IV (or, Four bags and a baby)

Warning: If you are freaked out by words like “breast milk” and “lactation” (Lord knows I have my moments), you might want to skip this entry. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Thursday before last, after 20 weeks of baby bonding, I returned to work. The separation, though difficult, was made easier by the fact that I left my little chicklet in the capable hands of her father, who has begun his (significantly shorter) parental leave. I digress.

Like a lot of new mothers, I use an electric breast pump during the work day so that Chicklet can get as much breast milk as possible while we’re apart. Unlike a lot of new mothers, I schlep the breast pump to and from work on the bus. (I only work three days a week, you see, and I sometimes need the pump on off days and weekends.) The pump and all its associated parts pack well into the discreet, medium-sized duffle bag they came in, but carrying that bag and my regular bus chick bag, especially during crowded commute times, can be a challenge.

On my first day back, Bus Nerd and Chicklet had an appointment in Redmond in the late afternoon, so we decided to meet at Overlake Transit Center and ride home together. Between the three of us, we had four bags: diaper bag, bus nerd bag (Nerd is still resisting combining his stuff with Chicklet’s), bus chick bag, and breast pump duffle, which, in addition to the pump, contained several ounces of milk.

Having been away from Chicklet for the entire day, I insisted on strapping her on for the ride, so Nerd kindly offered to carry my bus chick bag and the pump. (The man has a virtually unlimited carrying capacity–a good quality in a bus nerd.)

The ride to Montlake was long (due in part to bad traffic and in part to a stupid decision to try riding the 256 instead of my beloved, reliable 545), the wait at the Montlake stop was longer, and the forty-late home was standing-room only. Chicklet and I were offered a seat in the front, but Nerd had to stand in the back with all the bags until a seat opened up. The whole experience required enough shuffling, stacking, and other maneuvering to throw off even the most seasoned bus nerd.

And throw him off it did.

A few minutes after we arrived home, my (helpful, well-meaning) husband realized he had left the breast pump on the long-gone 48.

There’s not much of a market (I hope) for hot breast pumps, so we weren’t afraid it would be stolen, but, given the inconvenience factor, the perishable milk, and the fact that the pump was loaned to me by a friend, waiting until the next day to pick it up at Metro’s lost and found was a last resort. Nerd considered chasing the bus in a cab (as he did during the November wallet fiasco) but decided instead to intercept the coach on its way back north.

He first called the rider information line to see if the folks at Metro could contact the driver for him. As expected, they said they could not, but they did tell him what time the bus was expected at our stop. Nerd watched Tracker until the bus got close, then went outside to catch it.

After enduring a rather public interrogation from the driver, which involved questions like, “What was in the bag?” and “What color was the pump?” (turquoise, for those who were wondering), my hero returned with an intact pump and couple of bottles of (thankfully) unspoiled milk.

Since that incident (much as it pains me), I have stopped taking my bus chick bag to work. I keep my wallet and phone in my coat pockets and shove an umbrella and the book I’m reading into the duffle with the pump. I feel naked without my bus chick necessities, but I don’t want to risk losing that crucial piece of equipment again, and it’s easier to keep track of one bag. (It’s also a lot easier to find a seat without so much stuff to carry.) And the good news is, I’ll only be schlepping the pump for a few more months.

Now if I can just figure out how to manage Chicklet’s stuff

Busing with baby, part III

The first 20 weeks of busing with Chicklet have worked out pretty well. I love traveling around the city with her, especially now that she’s alert enough to take in her surroundings and enjoy the ride. Of course, we’ve had our share of challenges. One of the biggest is getting ourselves ready to leave the house. This is partly because timing–Chicklet’s needs with Metro’s schedules–is an issue, and partly because we always get held up figuring out what to wear. Check it:

Because I carry Chicklet in a front-pack carrier, I have to stick with clothing I can wear with it. This is not as easy as it sounds. It’s been cold and rainy since the little one was born, which means we both must dress warmly. None of my coats is big enough to zip up over her, so the shirt I choose must be warm enough to compensate for an open coat. It also must be thin enough to fit under the carrier (so much for sweaters) and–since at least half of the time Chicklet’s facing inward, and she’s especially fond of spitting up on her mother–machine washable. All of these constraints leave me with a handful of viable outfits, which I constantly rotate. Just when I had mastered the art of bus fashion!

Bus chicks in training must also accept some wardrobe restrictions. Because Chicklet’s outside a lot, I tend to focus on keeping her warm. Most of the time, I put her in a snowsuit, to make sure she stays nice and toasty while we’re walking or waiting. (Of course, once we get inside she’s invariably too toasty, and taking her out of the carrier to remove and then replace her layers is decidedly inconvenient. I digress.) When Chicklet wears a snowsuit, she has to wear an outfit that will fit well under it, which means no bells or whistles. So much for that Easter dress.

On days when it’s warm enough for her to go without the snowsuit, she must wear an outfit that covers her feet, which dangle below the carrier, exposed to the elements. Socks and shoes don’t stay on and are silly at her age, and bare feet are, of course, out of the question. Unless it’s a special occasion or she’s posing for pictures, she, like her mother, is forced to rotate the same few outfits–mostly one-piece, pajama-like numbers. This wouldn’t be so bad (after all, Chicklet’s only concern is that she’s warm and comfortable), except that we have to do laundry a lot. Also, thanks to the generosity of family and friends, our little BCiT has an extensive (and adorable) wardrobe, most of which rarely sees the light of day. I guess some lucky baby’s going to get a lot of very lightly used hand-me-downs.

Chick and Chicklet at the Market