Wandering

Saturdays are still what they used to be but for not much longer and slightly different. Last Saturday Oozy and I went for a drive in his 98 Jetta. It “died” a while ago, but we’ve been storing it at his parents’ house until we have time to take it to Carmax. We took a few pictures, and then Ooze said – in the assertive voice that took me aback on our first day – “get in.” And we drove. We drove 30 mph around a rich Potomac neighborhood on a bright, crisp fall day listening to the transmission struggle to stay alive. And I cried. (This is the something “slightly different.”) I cried because I remember him picking me up in that car at the Brandywine apartments in November 2002 — almost 6 years ago to the day. I remember being impressed by its cleanliness. It practically smelled like a new car, he took such good care of it. I remember thinking “wow – I’m in the car of a guy named Oozy who I barely know but find intriguing.”  And so I remembered and cried.  Later that afternoon we took my Pathfinder to buy a baby car seat. Six years after the cool boy in the 98 Jetta picked me for our first date, my husband said the words, “We need a Snugride base for the baby seat, right?” right next to a display of baby socks. That was only topped today by my husband talking about breast pumps with a friend at Sibley hospital after our maternity wing tour.