Tragic Sandwich

After a rough night that was the aftermath of The Nap Debacle, we’ve had a really nice Mother’s Day: breakfast at my in-laws’ house, swimming at the Y, and dinner at In-n-Out, where for the first time Baguette said, “Try sandwich” and proceeded to remove the cheese from our burgers until we got her a grilled cheese sandwich of her own.

I hope all of you had a lovely day, whether you are mothers, have mothers, or have had had mothers. I’m in two of those groups, so I know today can be bittersweet in the same moment that it’s wonderful. But let’s focus on the wonderful as much as we can, shall we?

When I started my current job–well, not my current job, but my first job working for my current employer–I commuted by Big Blue Bus. And later, when we moved, I continued to commute by bus: briefly via Metro, and then by LADOT Commuter Express.

Each was its own experience. The Big Blue Bus was full of Westsiders–commuters and a handful of unruly middle school students (they got a lot more ruly after I wrote a letter to their principal, and why isn’t ruly a word?).

The Metro bus was a mix; the Orange Line was mostly commuters, and the bus to which I made a connection was largely people who worked in one form of manual labor or another.

Commuter Express was, as you might expect, a vehicle primarily for commuters. It covered the longest distance and made the fewest stops, and also it cost the most.

But it was the quickest bus route between home and work, and it kept me from having to do the driving myself. I got to sit down (always in the evening, and most of the time in the morning). I made friends who were on the same schedule. I got to read, and, if I wasn’t too tired, to write.

When we started riding Commuter Express, Mr. Sandwich and I commuted together. Once Baguette was born, though, we needed to stagger our schedules to accommodate day care dropoff and pickup. The bus became the only “me” time I could count on.

As time passed, I adjusted my riding patterns, changing my stop to be sure I got a seat–and, as more people began riding–a place to park my car. Baguette’s morning schedule changed, too, and more and more, I found myself parking the car at work.

Meanwhile, I was paying for a bus pass. But last month, I realized that it simply didn’t make financial sense to keep the bus pass. I was only riding once a week, and paying for parking on the other days. After some discussion and agonizing, I gave up my bus pass and bought a parking permit.

So, for the first time in eight years, I have ceased to be a bus commuter. It feels alien and strange. Commuting by bus was a big part of my identity; I feel a little as if I’ve failed. It’s a harder shift than changing my name when I got married, or than becoming a mother, even though all three of these things were at my instigation.

And even though I know that this, too, may change, I miss the bus.

For quite some time, Baguette has been enamored of the Maria the Cowgirl segment on one of her favorite Sesame Street episodes. So as her birthday approached, we decided that a cowgirl theme was appropriate for this year.

Mr. Sandwich and I are ostensibly of the philosophy that simple birthday parties are better. It’s not that we won’t rent a bouncer or a pony–we just won’t do that yet.

Turns out, though, that the two of us have a little Pinterest in us after all.

Naturally, by the time the big day came, Baguette didn’t have the slightest interest in the theme.

Instead, she’s dressed as the Human Torch.