Every morning as I speed cautiously drive out of the neighborhood to rush to work, you can find me cursing under my breath because I’m trapped behind not one, but two school buses. “Missed it by one freaking minute…” (You must know these buses stop at every other driveway.) However, as the last bus at the last stop mechanically lowers out the ramp and the mom in the burgundy minivan rolls her child’s wheelchair to the entrance, I pause. Tears well up in my eyes and I think…
Yes, my children are spoiled but so am I. Yes, my oldest child’s legs work well enough to jump out of his window when he’s grounded WHILE we’re downstairs eating dinner with friends (You really thought you were going to get away with that?).
Yes, my middle child talks and laughs too much in school resulting in numerous parent-teacher conferences and detentions, but I am thankful he’s able to communicate.
Yes, my youngest can’t take it when her socks graze her pinky toe and I have to take the time in the morning to stretch her socks and ask her to “Wiggle your toes, is it still touching?” When I really want to yell and sometimes do, “It’s just socks — What is your problem?” But at least she can feel the difference and she’s able to tell me.
So when I watch this mom wheel her child to the bus, I think what an ungrateful person I am. I try to hold back the tears and I want a big do-over where I don’t yell, I don’t criticize, I just love. Then when I go to my teenager’s room to give him a kiss goodnight and realize he’s not in the bed (because he climbed out his window to sneak off to a friend’s) I just think, this is good fodder for my blog.