My daughter's bus picks her up at 8:53am. And because I am familiar with my late self, we leave the house at 8:48am. This gives us five minutes to walk half a block, seems reasonable right? Well, most days it is reasonable, so reasonable that I now know what it's like to be early.
One morning, as we were walking out the door, my stomach grumbled. I stopped in my tracks and grabbed my gut. My daughter looked at me a bit confused, "What's wrong mom?"
"Nothing really," I replied. "But I do believe that my coffee is kicking in."
She had no idea what to make of that statement and I didn't stick around to for further questioning. In seconds, I heard my two kids outside of the bathroom door telling me to hurry up or we were going to be too late. I told them not to worry and that I would be out in a minute.
A few minutes later, I threw the kids in the car and drove to a vacant bus stop. "Nobody is here!" my daughter yelled.
"I'm so sorry, Bug. Don't worry, I'll just drive you to school."
My poor girl sulked for a bit, she's a rule follower who likes a good routine and missing the bus was not part of her routine.
I made a quick stop at home where Miles and I changed out of our pajamas and ran a comb through our hair. Then we headed up to the elementary school.
As we darted into the school, we were stopped by one of Nola's friends and her mother. We both exchanged stories about why we were late and mine was extremely vague. I said something like, "I don't know what happened this morning, one minute we were on time and the next minute we missed the bus."
To which Nola replied, "That's not right, mom. We missed the bus because you had to poop."
Real smooth Bug, real smooth.
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