Hey, it’s Deb.
Thanks for all of the kind words after last week’s first day of school disaster. I’ll admit, it took me a day or so to shake it.
Yesterday, after a fun-filled day at the Indiana State Fair, serving up milkshakes and grilled cheese sandwiches at the Dairy Bar, I returned home in plenty of time to thaw out meat for the evening’s dinner and pay some bills. Noticing it was about time for my youngest to return home from school, I decided to step out onto my front porch and wait for his school bus. I checked the mail, sat down on the doorstep and flipped through my twitter account to pass the time.
Before I knew it, the bus came to a halt, kids filed off the bus and I glanced through the trees, expecting to see a strawberry-blonde boy who does hilarious facial expressions walking down the sidewalk.
He wasn’t.
I stood up, looked around, and saw the last of the kids, two boys about my son’s age, marching up their sidewalks and disappearing inside their homes.
WHERE WAS HE?
This is one of those moments we tell ourselves not to panic, when in fact, we PANIC. I imagined all the scenarios. I ran inside, nearly stumbling over the dog, Cletus, grabbed my phone and headed for the car. I called Greg, told him to call the school pronto, and backed out of our driveway like Helio Castroneves. I planned to catch up with the bus and ask Mr. Mike if he had seen my son, all the while remaining calm.
Reality: 20% calm + 80% Crazy=STRESSED OUT PARENT.
As I got about 3 blocks down the street, there he was. My youngest was waving at me like he was riding a float in a parade. In other words, like we do this EVERY DAY.
Son: ‘Hey, Mom!’
He had a big grin on his face.
Me: ‘Where have you been? I’ve been WORRIED!’
Him: ‘Oh that. Yeah, I think Mr. Mike forgot our stop.
Now my kid’s a blamer.
Me: ‘No. No, he didn’t. I watched other kids leave the bus at our stop, but no sign of you?’
Him: ‘Oh, then I was talking. (Laughing) Yeah, I was talking, looked up and realized I missed our house. Sorry about that.’
We got home, and he tore open a bag of fruit snacks while I phoned his dad to let him know Operation Social Son is over. (I suppose he gets it honest.)
I’m convinced I will be gray before the year is over.
And 80% crazy.
