With multiple kids in school for the last thirteen years, we are at that point in our lives when -- rather than referring to pregnancies as a timeline -- my husband, Garth (not his real name) and I are beginning rely on graduations to help us remember stuff.
Don't even get me started on the years when we had kids attending four different schools (redistricting, halfway through, yeah, THAT was fun!) and, well, a large chunk of that time is still a little fuzzy.
I do, however, remember spending at least two hours...every day...either dropping off or picking kids up from school and a bulk of that time was spent witnessing/experiencing carpool lane ashattery of epic proportions.
Entering middle school: I waved each of my kids off to the bus stop and may or may not have reinacted the entire first scene of the Sound of Music...four times.
[cue heavenly ray of light]
Unless, my two youngest miss the school bus and...HOLY HANNAH MONTANA...I thought the elementary schools were bad?!?
Middle school drop-offs are a whole OTHER level of hell.
Then my oldest started driving and offered to help out getting her siblings to school on the days they miss the bus.
[cue choir of angels]
Until this morning when, upon entering the seventh level of hell, where everyone else's kid also seemed to be running late, she came home and then proceeded to blow a gasket.
"How did you NOT go insane?"
"How did you NOT get into a car crash?"
"Seriously, the way THOSE people drive?"
"I can't believe you did THAT for ALL those years?"
I showed her a couple...HUNDRED...previous blog posts to, you know, back me up.
"Well, g'head and blog this then: CARPOOLING SUCKS, I QUIT!!!"
Which reminds me, my son is graduating 8th grade. He'll be a "walker" again in high school (bet you didn't know hell actually had 8 levels, huh?!?) AND first period begins at 7:25 a.m.
Well, it WAS nice while it lasted...YO!!!
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