“Honey, just go where you went last night when we met your teacher.”
“But what if I forget,” A. cries as tears threaten to fall. It’s the start of school and the beginning of a new routine. New bus schedule. New teacher. Homework. It’s a lot for a six-year-old.
“Maybe one of your brothers can help you?” I smile encouragingly to F. and I.
“No way,” F. replies.
“He can find it just fine,” I. replies.
“But I can’t,” A. cries. “I don’t remember!”
I could threaten, yell and scream, and/or bribe the bigger boys to walk him to his classroom but I know that once they get on the bus all bets are off. Also, I want them to want to help. A girl can dream, can’t she. Instead I offer another solution.
“Can you walk with a friend?” I ask. The screech of bus tires drowns out A.’s answer. The bus doors open and the three climb onboard to a chorus of “I love you!” and “Have a great day!” from the bus stop moms.
I’m anxious most of the day worrying whether my little one made it to class and wait impatiently in the yard as the bus rolls up Jolain Avenue and towards our house.
“Did you find your classroom?” I ask A. as he bounces off the bus at the end of the day.
“Yep,” he grins. “I. walked me the whole way there.”
“He did, did he?” I ask locking eyes with my oldest son. “Wasn’t that nice?” I. scoots quickly past and into the house, a proud grin spread across his face.