I love to write. I wish there were something I could write about and make money. My dad (and my grandmother) says that I should write a book. I guess I could write a book about how to talk on the phone and change a diaper and pay bills on-line simultaneously.
What? You don't know how to do that? Perhaps there is a need for such literary genius...
I was actually an English major in my four year, non-degree earning stint as a college student. I was the type who didn't really like to read (and still don't) unless I had to write a paper about it. Then I could read almost anything. I once wrote an entire paper on the use of the term heath in Wuthering Heights, which, I must add, is one of the most brilliant novels ever written. Granted, I have only read a small number of novels, but just roll with it. I found that paper not too long ago when cleaning out a closet. I sat and read it and wept on the inside for the intelligent person I once was before pushing two children out a very small hole in the anatomy. Does anyone else out there feel like your entire brain came out with the baby? Well, maybe half each time... Okay. On with my point.
David is a walker at our school. We have a little cross walk that goes over to the school. It is a side drive of the school as best I can describe, and the buses follow it around to the back of the school to unload in the morning and pick up in the afternoon. This year, all us parents have noticed that the buses seem to be flying by at top speed. We started out kind of joking about it. Why are they in such a hurry to pick up the kids?? Ha. Ha. But the more frequent it became, the less humorous it became as well. And today, a little boy - a 2nd grader just like my own whom I am sure has been told a hundred times to always stop and look before he crosses - bounded out the door today and started to run across the cross walk. Luckily, he and the day care van which could have killed him in front of us all saw each other and stopped in the nick of time. And I mean the nick of time. I am sorry; I am by no means the most astute individual in the world, nor do I claim to be the safest and bestest driver. But you just cannot have a close call like that. It is just not acceptable.
So, as soon as I got home, I wrote a long overdue email to our principal reporting the incident and my concerns about the safety of her students and of their smaller siblings. I admitted our parental responsibility, but I also insisted that the ultimate responsibility lies in the hands of the driver. They all know we are there. You can see the large group of parents waiting to pick up their child. The cross walk is marked like any public street cross walk would be. There is no excuse.
Writing little things like this just brings my brain back to a slow rumble again and reminds me of the good old days when I could complete a sentence. Reminds me of the days when I aspired to be something intelligent - perhaps a lawyer or an editor. Now, I am definitely not feeling sorry for myself. I fully appreciate the fortunate position I find myself in where I am able to be there when my kid gets out of school. I am glad I was there this afternoon to see what took place. Because, I must admit, I am not certain any of the other parents could have expressed themselves with the eloquence and grace of Crazy Mama.