The movies depict parents
dropping their kids off at school on a sunny day, curbside, hugging, even
stopping to look back and wave. I want to find that school, drop my kids
off at it, and hang out long enough to watch their little faces walk through
the door. Sadly, my kids and I will never experience
this kind drop off. That school doesn't exist.
I have it timed on our car clock how long it takes to get to school. If we are pulling off at 7:52am, we are doomed, no matter how fast I drive or how many stop signs I roll through. Doomed parents earn their doomed kids a spot in detention for tardiness. Parents will go to great lengths to keep this kind of guilt off their shoulders.
Like several other parents who are still screaming "have you brushed your teeth?" and "you need $11 dollars for what?" at 7:51am, we are in a race to beat the clock. 8 o’clock am is the enemy. The punishment ensues when we arrive at the school. A single file of bumper to bumper cars lines the twisting, turning driveway to the front doors. Driver etiquette goes out the window in the student drop off community. We are all jockeying for the next open spot in the car line. You wont see any friendly "No, you go ahead" waves here.
At 10 cars back in the line, I tell my daughter that she can unbuckle her seatbelt and get in the front seat with brother. At 7 cars back, I am cussing the mom who left a two car gap open, keeping the rest of us at a standstill. At 5 cars back I am staring at the clock and chewing my fingernails. At 3 cars back, I am assuring my daughter that the policeman standing there isn't paying attention to the fact that she isn't in a seatbelt. At 1 car back, I am telling my son to crack the car door open and get ready.
When we finally make it to the front of the school, I am everything but the mom in the movies. I am yelling at this point, "Gedout! Gedout! Gedout!" as I survey the drivers behind us in my rear view mirror. There are no warm hugs, or kisses. I am literally using my hand like a snow plow and pushing their little bodies off the seat and out the door. As my son slams the car door, I hear my daughter's tiny voice say through the car window in a muffled fashion, "Mommy, am I pack lunch or tray?" Driving away at about 7 miles per hour, I roll my window down, and scream "Traaaaaaay".
I exit the school lot. The sun is shining now and I think I hear birds singing. It's 7:59am. I look down in the seat and grab the half eaten blueberry Pop Tart that's been mashed into the belt buckle and begin to eat it. Success.
I have it timed on our car clock how long it takes to get to school. If we are pulling off at 7:52am, we are doomed, no matter how fast I drive or how many stop signs I roll through. Doomed parents earn their doomed kids a spot in detention for tardiness. Parents will go to great lengths to keep this kind of guilt off their shoulders.
Like several other parents who are still screaming "have you brushed your teeth?" and "you need $11 dollars for what?" at 7:51am, we are in a race to beat the clock. 8 o’clock am is the enemy. The punishment ensues when we arrive at the school. A single file of bumper to bumper cars lines the twisting, turning driveway to the front doors. Driver etiquette goes out the window in the student drop off community. We are all jockeying for the next open spot in the car line. You wont see any friendly "No, you go ahead" waves here.
At 10 cars back in the line, I tell my daughter that she can unbuckle her seatbelt and get in the front seat with brother. At 7 cars back, I am cussing the mom who left a two car gap open, keeping the rest of us at a standstill. At 5 cars back I am staring at the clock and chewing my fingernails. At 3 cars back, I am assuring my daughter that the policeman standing there isn't paying attention to the fact that she isn't in a seatbelt. At 1 car back, I am telling my son to crack the car door open and get ready.
When we finally make it to the front of the school, I am everything but the mom in the movies. I am yelling at this point, "Gedout! Gedout! Gedout!" as I survey the drivers behind us in my rear view mirror. There are no warm hugs, or kisses. I am literally using my hand like a snow plow and pushing their little bodies off the seat and out the door. As my son slams the car door, I hear my daughter's tiny voice say through the car window in a muffled fashion, "Mommy, am I pack lunch or tray?" Driving away at about 7 miles per hour, I roll my window down, and scream "Traaaaaaay".
I exit the school lot. The sun is shining now and I think I hear birds singing. It's 7:59am. I look down in the seat and grab the half eaten blueberry Pop Tart that's been mashed into the belt buckle and begin to eat it. Success.
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