I am a Rock; I am an Island

I am neither rock nor island, really, but I am all alone. ALLLLL alone. The Boy is on his way to West Virginia for the Big Field Trip. He's so excited, and I'm excited for him--but I am going to be on pins and needles until his bus pulls back into the school parking lot Wednesday night. He literally has never been this far away from me, and he didn't take his phone because there's no service there. Do you realize what this means, people? It means that for the first time since he was born--in December of 1996, I am going to spend more than 48 hours without any communication from my kid. He's of course not bothered by this AT ALL: I didn't even get a hug and kiss goodbye. Ingrate. Macho. Sigh.

Honestly, I'm not worried about him or his safety once he's there, but I am worried about the bus trip there and back. I fully admit that I am a paranoid freak, but I might call the place late this afternoon and just make sure the bus made it there. Then I can breathe until Wednesday afternoon, when they start to make their way back.

Yes, I am a worrier. I deal with it, and I do my honest best to keep The Boy from knowing just how much I worry, but . . . there really isn't much I can do about it.

In other news, I sold an old bed frame on Craig's List, and the guy came to pick it up at the crack of dawn Saturday morning. Since I was up, The Boy and I went to the big neighborhood yard sale, where I spent $30 on a big bag of books, a bike to replace The Boy's crashed one, and a bike rack for the car. Sounds great, right? But . . . (of course there's a but) we immediately put the rack on the car, hooked the bike to it, and drove to MP to see my dad. We were planning to go in anyway, to see if he could fix the pedals on the crashed bike, so we figured we'd take the new bike for him to go over and make sure it was safe.

So we drove to MP, and got there to discover that the front wheel had fallen off the bike on the way. UGH! I actually did the old, I'm Shocked! move of clapping my hand over my mouth. We retraced our route (just as far as the turnpike) to see if we could find it, and of course could not. Then we went to Wal-Mart (ugh) to see if we could buy one, but they only sell whole bikes. By the way, there *is* a bike shop in MP, and of course we went there, but it's CLOSED ON WEEKENDS. Isn't it amazing that everyone in MP is able to fulfill their bike needs between from 9-5, Monday through Friday?

It was too late to go to the local bike shop by the time we got back home, so we went yesterday when they opened at noon. The cheapest wheel, tire, and tube set the guy had would have cost $75, and he was very, very reluctant to sell it to me because he said the bike was a piece of junk and that it would be a waste to put such an expensive tire on it. And then he brought out a used bike that had just come in that day, which The Boy promptly fell for . . . which I agreed to buy for $120. It will have a full tune-up, new tires, and new brakes. And supposedly the bike would have cost about $600 when it was new.

The Boy's thrilled, but I don't know whether I did the right thing. Suddenly the $15 yard sale bike has cost a whole lot more. On the one hand, The Boy will have a good bike that he'll be able to ride and keep until he's pretty much a grown-up (or able to fork over for his own damn bike). On the other hand, I'm probably a chump.

And I am SO SICK of thinking about it!