So, Noah was not supposed to ride the bus home yesterday. I was not supposed to BE home. He rode the bus home and for some reason, I had not made it out the door yet and lo and behold, he rang the doorbell. When I saw his face, my heart stopped. How did he get home? He doesn't know our neighborhood that well at all. How did he know how to GET home? He had this look of fear on his face.
He was supposed to go to after care for a couple of hours and they do that right there at school. Nope. He came home. I'm fine he came home, of course, but what if? What if someone had abducted him? What if he wandered out of the neighborhood? I was not at the bustop waiting for him but I most defnitely would have if I knew he was on the bus. This day and age, you cannot let your small child wander around a neighborhood on their own; too much can happen. Too much. I was freaking out. Freaking out. I called the school, they were all in a meeting and couldn't be reached.
The bus dropped off at 320 but he didn't get home till 340 and it only takes no more than four minutes to walk to the bus stop. So what was he doing? He couldn't give me an answer. When I asked him how he knew how to get home, where to go, he said, "the wind helped me, it blew to the right and so I turned right." My heart melted. I happen to think his brother Lucas was looking down on him and made sure he got home alright. Thanks Lucas. You are our angel that keeps us safe. I believe it to my core. I don't care who scoffs or laughes or rolls their eyes. I know it and I have faith in it. Lucas must have guided him home.
So his teacher called me just now and she was so apologetic. Truth is, Noah told her he was supposed to ride the bus home. Stinker. He didnt' tell me that. I'm just glad he got home alright and I'm glad that it's all straight now. His teacher now knows what exactly is to happen each day after school, no more worries. Better not be. I WILL flip out then-for real.
When does the drama ever end? When I say?
You cook, you clean, you go to work, you nourish, you love, you scold, you are professional and yet you hang your hat on every dust particle in your home. You are a woman. Some women are Moms and some are not. You are still a woman. We are all made similarly. We are strong.
1 comment:
That must of been so scary. I can imagine because I had something similar happen like that a week ago with my stepdaughter. I know I had mixed emotions of fury and thankfulness. What's that, yup... looks like another gray hair!
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