H ~ Hundreds of Bumps

    The excitement was palpable as we waited in the early morning darkness with only a dim oil lamp burning on the kitchen table. The suitcases were packed and waiting by the door. John and I kept running to the window to peer outside in hopes we could see the headlights of our driver's vehicle coming up the driveway.
    Mom and Dad were sitting calmly next to the table, but somehow even with our bouncing back and forth to the window, it was Dad who saw the first glimpse of our driver approaching. We hurried outside and were ready to load into the station wagon by the time it rolled to a stop.
    John and I got to sit on the back seat. We didn't have seat belts to wear, so as soon as it was light enough to see we knelt on the seat to look out the back window.
    The day wore on and some of the excitement of traveling a long distance to visit our other set of grandparents was wearing off. We were ready to be there. The station wagon was getting hot, and it was a bumpy ride sitting in the back seat.
     Bored of watching the traffic behind us, and moving too fast to fully enjoy the passing landscape and scenery like you could from a buggy we sat there for a while bumping along quietly. And then we started singing a little song we made up on the spot.

     Hundreds of bumps, hundreds of bumps
     Here comes another and then we'll fly
     Up to the ceiling, down to the ground
     Backwards and forwards round and round.

    We sang that little song with all the gusto our little four and six year old lungs could muster. Over and over and over again. Until we finally approached our grandparents and got excited again.
     The song and its catchy little tune stuck, and remains a family favorite for bumpy conditions.