Surely Dark Chocolate Toblerone would ward off the dementors we both were no doubt battling. I know the icy chill had gone to my heart when Alex called from the school. Middlest was at a preschool, across the Roseville Bridge and several kilometers from his school bus stop. He didn’t cry on the phone, and Pippi the preschool headmistress was so sweet, but gee whiz. He’s only 8!
Not one to wallow he had set himself to making paper airplanes from the book Pippi had lent him. He had a pretty good stack going by the time I arrived. I wanted to swallow him in a mama bear hug, but I restrained myself and honored his manhood while he completed the final airplane in his fleet. Cocooned in the back seat of the car together he allowed me a hug and told me his story.
Apparently when he had realized he’d missed his stop he’d alerted the bus driver who had explained he couldn’t stop the bus in the middle of the bridge. “I crossed the street to the other bus stop--a girl helped me--and I looked at the bus schedule just like you showed me, but there was no 136! Only a 280! and then I didn’t know what to do!” Then finally some tears and he let me snuggle him up. He’d kept his head though. “I remembered our routine, Mom.” When he couldn’t find a policeman he found a parent with a child and asked for help. They took him to the preschool, who found the name of his school, who called me, who brought chocolate, and snuggles.
Sometimes I think they’re not listening, but they are.
