You can learn a lot about life from standing at the bus stop. In particular I am talking about my children's school bus stop here in my North Carolina neighborhood; but wherever you have mothers with children, you will have Bus Stop Mommies.
We moved to Concord last February, more than halfway through the academic and school bus year. At our school in Florida, there was no bus system, so I took our lives in my hands and maneuvered the drop off and pick up lines every morning and afternoon. Long before I had children, I watched the school parking lot scene in the movie, Mr. Mom, and haughtily concluded no mother in a school parking lot could possibly be that rude.
Then I had children of my own.
When I stand before the judgment throne in Heaven, I am sure there will be a separate and infinitely long line specifically for Parental Parking Lot Sins. God knows I've witnessed and participated in more than I care to admit:
“Hey you moron! Could you drive a little faster around all these little kids?”
“So Karen, I see your husband picked up the kids yesterday.”
“Why yes, I was home sick in bed. How did you know it was him?”
“He was in the wrong line; you need to talk to him about that.”
HONK HONK HONK “Oh pardon me, was I in the way of your big truck or was it your big ego?”
Then there was umbrella-toting Sister Maria manning the lot like Schwartzkopf with his tanks. You knew you had “arrived” when Sister reprimanded you for leaving your car in the pick-up lane unattended or nabbed you chatting with the van in the adjoining lane, thereby stalling the forward progress of the pick-up line. Let's face it, parking lots can bring out the worst in all of us, plus send a horrendous message to our little wide-eyed-sponges-for-brains children in the back seat.
That said, you can imagine my great joy of leaving behind parking lot rage and racked-up minivan mileage. Except on the first day. Then I was just plain nervous watching my child climb aboard that big orange thing on wheels with a stranger for a driver and no seat belts in sight.
Anyhow, last February, the weather was cold and wet so none of my new neighbors were outside to accost, um, I mean introduce myself to. I was desperate to feel like I belonged in this tight-knit 'hood and especially anxious to meet the other moms. For a reason that escapes me now (big surprise there) my husband walked our daughter up to the bus stop that first anxious morning.
From my front door I could press my nose on the cold glass and after wiping off the fog and grime, see them gathered around the bus stop at the top of my street. Yes! They're there! All my future friends and fellow vessels of homework and hormone wisdom…oh, how I longed to belong. You see, I've learned that life's ebbs and flows and passages of time have less to do with great mystical omnipotent powers but rather with how long your children have been riding the bus.
Ahhh, the bus stop. A true suburban bevy of sleepy-eyed, mumbling, bed-headed creatures. And the children aren't always so perky either. Last year we stumbled out of the house for the short romp up the cul de sac at 7:25A.M. Most of the kids were there or tearing out their doors at the last minute. No problem. This year we have to tear out the door, toast in hand at 7:12 or we are toast.
Usually no more than three kids make it on board each morning. They're still trying to get their mothers out of bed. All eleven make the ride home in the afternoon. You see, our driver, Gloria, has won “Bus Driver of the Month” every month since school opened this year. Translated: she is never late. As a matter of fact, she is typically early. She even smiles in the morning and has the heat on for the kids during the winter. She is still smiling in the afternoon, a far better person than me; she gets to skip that long line in Heaven; I am certain of it.
The Bus Stop Mommies agree with me. We tend to agree on a lot of things because we discuss all of life's crucial topics — who has the best prices on milk, what time the mail man comes, who needs to bag their grass clippings, fourth grade writing tests, which teachers were meant to become prison wardens, which laundry stain fighter is the best, how to remove moldy shower caulk and anything related to the male species.
The Bus Stop Mommies always know where and when the next Tupperware, Pampered Chef, Bunco, and birthday party will occur. We are never more than a house away from a prayer request, borrowed egg, wallpaper scraper, or glass of Chardonay. Within their ranks I have found women who share my faith, doctor, and distaste for ironing. All things wise and wonderful — they are mouthed at the Bus Stop. The Secret of Life — learned at the Bus Stop. The Be All and End All — you guessed it, the Bus Stop.
So the next time you need a walking buddy, a third opinion on the color of yellow you just finished painting your kitchen, moral support, or just some mommy venting time, head to the bus stop. Call one of the gals and have her meet you there early. Therein lies your answer.
Karen Rinehart is a magazine humor columnist, public speaker and the creator of The Bus Stop Mommies, a newspaper. She is also author of Invisible Underwear, Bus Stop Mommies and Other Things True To Life. You can read more of her work at karenrinehart.net. Karen lives in Concord, North Carolina with her two kids, one husband and goofball dog, where they attend St. James Catholic Church. (Well, they leave the dog at home.) She enjoys hearing from readers across the States and as far away as Australia, Japan and England.
