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Archives from 2002-2006

Every day Riley and Dylan’s bus is at least ten to twenty minutes late. I’m deeply paranoid I’ll somehow miss it, so I always arrive at the stop at least five minutes early. That’s a nontrivial weekly amount of waiting on my part, but I bring a book and try to pretend like my car is a sort of mini-spa. One filled with repulsive amounts of kid detritus and the faint odor of wet socks.

Anyway, I’ve considered calling the transportation department to ask WTF is up with the forever-late bus — like, at this point why not just change the schedule? But the last time I described a less-than-ideal bus experience I got a very uncomfortable phone call from the school district transportation manager. A short time after our call, I received the following comment on that post:

Now, for legal reasons I can’t say where this IP address was tracked back to … but let’s just say I’m pretty sure I know who “Pablo” is.

Startlingly unprofessional management aside, our actual bus drivers are the best. I’m particularly fond of the afternoon guy, whose blood pressure I fret about every time he angrily blasts the horn towards oncoming drivers who ignore his flashing red lights (ie, every driver). Lord, he is mad at those oblivious assholes, and I hope Pablo his boss gives him a raise for it.

For a brief period of time every school day except Wednesdays, I’m in charge of three kids. The extra voice in our cacophonous crowd is a third grade girl I’ll call Mary, who lives a few blocks away. We shared a bus stop with Mary last year, and over the summer I learned that Mary’s mom had managed to get her work schedule rearranged so she could be home with Mary in the afternoons. She goes in early so she can leave at 3:30, but that’s not quite early enough to meet the bus. So Mary gets off at our stop, and I take her home until her mom can get here to pick her up.

It’s truly no skin off my back, since I have to meet the bus anyway and Mary’s a great kid who Riley and Dylan clearly ADORE. But I know it makes all the difference in the world to Mary’s family, who would otherwise be sending her to after-school care. Local childcare options are tougher than ever, since our school eliminated full-day kindergarten and a neighboring school shut down their before/after-school program. It’s expensive, of course, but I’m not even sure every family who needs it has access to it this year.

I don’t suppose I’ll ever be someone who is completely happy being home full time. Then again, I’ve never once had a job that was 100% rewarding 100% of the time. I’m prone to occasional misgivings and grass-is-greener thinking, but I’m so enormously grateful for my flexibility. I’m grateful to be able to help someone else’s family while taking care of my own.

My brain can so easily get stuck in this self-destructive loop: I feel like nothing I do makes a difference. But god, that isn’t even remotely true.

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