It’s nearly dinnertime and the boys and I are still at school. It’s not our usual routine.
I’m helping with kindergarten registration and loving meeting this incoming group of fresh-faced almost kindergarteners. Little pig-tailed cuties hop from foot to foot, unable to contain their excitement as parents wait to turn in their pile of paperwork.
Around the corner, the boys join the after-school childcare program, a first. (I’ll admit to being a tad offended when they react with unabashed glee when I tell them the plan.)
By five, I’m ready to go. I’ve been at the school for PTO things off and on a majority of the day.
“Let’s go!” I cheer, hoping to rally the kids quickly to pack it in and head to the car.
“I’m going to say hi to Mrs. H. OK?” F. yells and bounces down the hallway before I give an answer. The other two boys bound after in a mad dash to catch up.
I can’t blame them. Mrs. H is one of my favorites, too.
I walk to the kindergarten wing in to find the boys feeding the class fish and filling in Mrs. H. on the latest and greatest.
After a fun ten minutes I convince the boys we need to start home. Walking towards the door, A. spots something on the floor. “Brady forgot the birthday bag!” he says.
The birthday bag contains several birthday-themed picture books, a birthday journal where kids record how they spend their special day, a package of crayons, a birthday hat and a stuffed bear. Brady told us at the bus stop that he’d be bringing it home.
Without missing a beat, A. offers to bring it to him. “He only lives across the street,” he explains.
It’s just the push the boys need to get them moving towards the car. Homebound. Finally. Thank you, Birthday Bear.