I want to share with you the trauma I caused my 5-year-old.
Medium gets off the bus at 11:15. Perhaps I’ve mentioned this before - the fact that Kindergarten is only half-day, which means I barely have time to shower and he’s home. Seriously, I drop them off at the bus, have a cup of coffee and try to watch the Today Show, (just in case someone tries to have an intelligent conversation with me and I want to be up-to-date with my news, not spouting off dated facts about that skank Monica Lewinsky that I gleaned from the last time I actually read a newspaper,) put the baby down for a morning nap so I can shower, and poof! It’s time to get Medium from the bus.
At about 11:10 last Friday, I literally had one shoe on when my doorbell rang. I hobbled to the door to greet my girlfriend. We’ll call her Laura, which is not her real name. Or maybe it is and I’m just trying to throw you off her scent. I’m all crafty like that. Her two-year-old is obsessed with babies, so she was all over Small, I was trying to get my shoe on and fasten the baby into the Bjorn, and Laura was fetching her laundry out of my washer. (It’s a long story, but I find it kinda pathetic that the ONE item I own that my girlfriends covet is my friggin’ washing machine.) I’m on my way out the door, yelling at Laura to just hang on a second and I’ll be right back, when the dog takes off. I just can't seem to get out of the house!
|"Where my mama at?"|
I pictured Medium, sad and weepy on the bus because his mama doesn’t care enough to actually be at the bus stop on time. And I have no idea what the protocol is in this situation, but I was also envisioning that judgmental phone call coming from school: “yes, Mrs. BoyMommy, we have a Medium here in the office. Could you please come retrieve your child, if it’s not too much to ask? Would you mind? We’re not judging you, but seriously, how hard is it for you to walk to the bus stop? What the hell else do you have to do?” I’m gonna owe my soul to the PTA just so I can alleviate the guilt and try to dispel the nasty rumor that I can't get my sh*t together.
By this time, Laura had packed up her kids and gotten my dog back into the house, and she was driving up my street. We came up with a game plan. She took off in her SUV: Grocery Getter Edition to try to head off the bus and rescue my son, but we had no idea if the bus driver would allow him to get off the bus with someone who is not his parent. Meanwhile, I ran home. (Okay, I walked at a brisk pace, since I still had Small Bjorned.) I got him buckled into his car seat and grabbed my cell phone and my wallet, just in case I need ID when Child Protective Services tracks me down. I was on my way out the garage door and planning to drive the opposite way so that Laura and I could trap the bus in our neighborhood, all stealth-like, when in pulls Laura, and she had Medium! She's my hero.
He was more mad than sad, and I was laying on the apologies pretty thick. One of my finer parenting moments, ladies and gentlemen.
Naturally, since I already had Small buckled in and my car keys in hand, I decided we should go to my Mecca, the glorious mommy magnet known as Target. While feeding Medium a nutritious lunch at Target’s snack bar, I noticed my friend K walk in. In lieu of screaming her name like a lunatic because I am THAT desperate for adult interaction, I contemplate calling her cell phone and telling her "I know where you are and I’m watching you right now." But I decided that that’s too stalkerish. Maybe. A little bit. Plus, I was afraid she’d look at her phone, see my number, roll her eyes, and put it back in her pocket, and I just can’t take that kind of rejection. After lunch, I was on my quest for coffee creamer and milk, as I had to put Nesquik chocolate milk in my coffee that morning because we were out of both. I spotted K huffing the room deoderizers in aisle 8, and I thought to myself, “this poor woman. She’s more like me than she knows.” I relayed Medium’s bus stop story, all nervous laughter and “silly me!” Except Medium didn’t think it was funny. His future therapist is gonna hear about this, I’m sure.