The Bus Stop

Maybe it’s because I missed it for the first two years.  Maybe it’s because this tiny window of time gives us something in our life that feels very “routine” and routine feels good right now.  Maybe it’s because the kids are generally in a good mood first thing in the morning.

I’m not sure exactly,  but whatever the case, the morning bus stop has quickly become my very favorite part of the day. 

It probably sounds funny, huh?  I mean, really, the bus actually stops at the end of our driveway.  I could easily watch out the window for the large, yellow, multi-windowed, slightly loud, child-filled transportation vehicle and shout for the kids to head out the door.  That would probably be less work and, quite honestly, more convenient.  However, I’ve never been one to choose the most logical route.  Instead, I dress Meadow and myself (and sometimes Chanelle when she doesn’t have school) appropriately, double knot tennis shoes, zip up jackets and head out the door.

In our house, the bus stop is a family event of waiting. . .

And playing. . .

I’m not sure if it’s the fresh air or the morning light, but something makes these moments before the bus arrives simply pleasurable.  Footballs are tossed around. . .

Piglets are walked. . .

And piggy back rides are offered generously. . .

I remember driving to work back before Charlie was even in school.  Every so often I would pass a Mom putting her tiny little girl on a bus.  Each time I watched the scene unfold my heart sank and a lump formed in my throat.  I quickly dabbed at the tears in my eyes so not to be a mess when I got to work.  (I’m guessing my clients might have issues with their therapist sobbing over watching a stranger put her daughter on a bus.)  I wondered how that Mom let go.  I wondered if she went into the house each day and cried after saying good-bye. 

Over the last few years, when we lived thirty minutes away from school, there was a part of me that was thankful to be slightly removed from the entire bus situation.  I was happy to not have to send him off and be left wondering if he was okay.  Out of sight, out of mind.

Now that I’m on the other side of it, I realize what I was missing.  I was missing Charlie thinking he was a genius with this little trick. . .

He was shocked when I told him I used to do the same thing.  I thought it was a new thing, he told me.  I was missing laughter. . .

Good-bye hugs. . .

Quiet moments. . .

And Meadow’s frantic yelling of “BYE!!!!!!!!” 

It’s not much, I know.  They are such
simple, insignificant moments in the grand scheme of life.  But I don’t
want to forget them.  I want to remember the way they watched their
breath in the cool morning air.  I want to remember the way Charlie
hugged Meadow and I every single day before getting on the bus.  I want to remember the way they watched out the window and waved at me as the bus pulled away.  I
want to remember us, together, in this simple way because I know before
long that bus will pass by our house without stopping and these days
will just be memories. 

Have a wonderful weekend, Friends.