You think your morning commute is bad? Below is a rough outline of the steps involved in getting Dylan and Riley from our house to school each day. Not included are additional actions required as a result of inclement weather, unexpected trips to the bathroom, and days when the landscapers are making loud, scary noises with their weed trimmers.
Our commute requires the following:
- The time it takes to get the boys, Riley in particular, in the car (see previous post: “WHAT?!“).
- The time it takes to drive from our house to school, which includes opening snacks, clapping when we see trucks, and fighting over whose turn it is to pick the parking space once we get to school.
- Once on school property, the time it takes to: finally decide whose turn it is to pick a parking space, have the “decider” direct me to the actual parking space (not as easy as it sounds), and if necessary, back out and choose another parking space if the “decider” changes his mind (and cries) in the process.
- The time it takes to wipe faces due to: crumbs, runny noses, and/or tears.
- The time it takes to: inspect ant holes, watch squirrels play in the trees, chase butterflies, hide in the bushes, watch airplanes, helicopters and, occasionally, skywriters fly overhead, and pick up sticks and pretend they are lightsabers, “shoots,” airplanes, and/or rocket ships.
- The time it takes to convince Riley to put his sticks down before we go inside the building. (Of course we can find them after school!)
- The time it takes to find the boys inside the building because once we walk throughthe front door they run. Fast.
- Once found, the time it takes for Riley to: open the big, heavy door to his classroom all by himself, help him unpack his backpack, give him a hug and kiss goodbye, and on occasion, ask his teacher to peel his clinging body off of me.
- The time it takes to: walk Dylan to his classroom across the hall, watch him sign in (his handwriting is getting so good!), and give him a big (not embarrassing yet…at least I don’t think) kiss before finally walking out of the building…alone.
A smarter Mama would drop the kids off at carpool and avoid all of the above nonsense. But I am a martyr. I will hover over walk my babies boys into school until I am forced out.
The Runaway Mama by Jen Gregory 