Right on schedule, the alarm went off at 2:30. Darn it, I was in the middle of washing the kitchen curtains. I grabbed the keys for the truck and out the door I……almost went. What am I doing? Force of habit. I don’t have to be at the school bus stop anymore; not ever again. I stepped backwards a few steps, turned, and slowly sat down at the kitchen table to think as I gazed at my keys. Years of rushing to the bus stop like a programmed robot to get the kids at exactly 2:30 every day, and now it’s finished. Forever. They’ll be no more dropping what I’m doing, or rushing through the quick check out lane when I’m in a store, to get to the bus stop. So many times it was pouring down rain or cold or too hot, and I had to arrive at the bus stop before the bus so they wouldn’t have to stand there and wait. In all these years, Dan said I have been late only twice that he can remember. That’s two times too many.
Sometimes I would go to parent pick up so they wouldn’t have to take the bus at all. All the kids would stampede out the doors the minute the school bell rang, but not mine. Mine would be lollygagging along at the tail end. Why? Because they had to talk to EVERYONE on their way out. Here I am, motor running, waiting and waiting in the parking lot, watching all the other parents drive away with their kids, and I’m always the last one to leave. Finally, here they come, looking like the wreck of the Hesperus. Shirts hanging out, hair a mess, food stains on them, what a couple of slobs. “Where were you guys?” Dumb question on my part. “Well he did this and he did that” and “It was not me, it was you, because you had to……..” Right. You would think after how many years I would learn not to ask. They are fighting over who’s in the front seat while I’m still sitting parked with the motor running. I finally remind them they are not in kindergarten any more but that never helps. Eventually, one kid will smack the other one upside the head, and that one will punch the other one in the arm, and I’ll get out of the truck and sit on the tailgate and tell them to let me know when they are seated and we’ll go home.
And it’s a long, long, long, way home. “Mom, he hocked a loogie in front of Mrs. B today outside during P.E.” “Did not, you are such a liar.” “Don’t believe him mom, I’m the good son.” “Mom, we got our reports cards and he’s hiding his in his locker and going to tell you he didn’t get it.” “Mom, tell him to quit touching me, he’s touching me.” “I am not touching him.” “He’s lying again mom, I’m the good son.”
When you get home, I want one of you to take out the trash, and one of you to clean the bird cage. “Not me, I did trash yesterday.” “Did not, you always lie.” “Didn’t I do the trash yesterday mom?”
I honestly can’t remember, because I have a headache. “See what you did, you gave mom a headache!” “Not me, I’m the good son.”
I was in town the other day running errands and before I could realize it, I found myself driving towards the school, like a magnet was drawing me. I drove up long driveway, shaded by lines of oak trees on both sides; passing the middle school on my right, and continuing straight ahead to the high school parking lot. I knew exactly where to park, in his spot. That will always be his parking place. No one else. I thought for a minute: he parked here, he was here in this very space every day. I can feel him.
I walked around the quiet, deserted campus and headed to the football field, where I could see the elementary school beyond. I could still smell the odor of clay and feel myself helping the kids make paste out of flour and water. Memories gushing out of me; the Sponge Bob valentine cards every year, baking dozens and dozens of brownies for the class Christmas party, and organizing the annual Christmas play. I just stood there, strolling down memory lane in my mind taking in the views. I closed my eyes and I could hear the kids screaming in the stands when we made a touchdown. Our team was always so good, but that band was pretty bad.
I gazed down the hill at the middle school and couldn’t help remember the annual science fairs. They were such a pain. One failed experiment after another for many frustrating weeks until it worked. Home made volcanoes that would erupt on command, home made battery operated machines that proved a theory, wires and gadgets and propellers all over the house. My kids were genius, in my eyes anyhow. I had to giggle when I remembered every fall when they had to make a pumpkin globe. Those stupid pumpkin globes! You had to get a pumpkin and make it look like a globe of the world. You had to designate each body of water, and each country. Easier said than done. They would be judged and the winners would get a ribbon. Countless pumpkins were painted in my kitchen, until they got them right. Another pain, but we got ribbons! Those genius kids of mine.
I drifted over to the front of the high school lawn and sat down on the one and only picnic table out there. I new what I would find; his carvings. I ran my hand over his name repeatedly and didn’t even try to hold back the tears. There was a heart with his name and his beloved Tabby’s; and again, another carving on the tree behind it, and who knows where else?
The janitors pulled up and let me walk down senior hall so I could touch their lockers. I didn’t even make it past sophomore hall and the tears came pouring out. I hoped they wouldn’t notice. The soundless empty halls, all I could hear was the clip clop of my sandals. I had a flashback of times when I would walk these halls and a teacher would spot me; “Oh, Mrs. G. I’m so glad you’re here, can I just have a few words with you for a minute?” Oh god, not again, and here would come another bombshell. Who would it be this time? Darn it! I knew their locker numbers and held my hand against them. They were open and bare inside, but I envisioned them over flowing with books and papers and notes, detention slips, CD’s, dirty stinking tee shirts and left over Dr. Pepper bottles. But not this time. They must have already cleaned them very well with disinfectant because there would have been crumbs or parts of apples or candy in one of them for sure. Nothing was there. No signs they ever were there.
It seemed like a very long journey as I made my way back down the halls; but there had to be just one more stop, the auditorium. That’s where graduation night was held. The night when we all cried endless tears of joy. The night when we were the happiest and most proud family on the face of the earth. It was nothing more than an empty room now with seats up in the folding position. No microphone, no bandstand, no teachers and no kids cheering for mine today. I’m going to miss those talent shows and school plays. It’s all over.
I stopped in front of the office and attempted to peek in, but the door was locked and by now, one of the janitors was waiting for me to leave. I looked over my shoulder once more at the office and had another flashback of the many times I sat in that office because one of my genius somebody’s had done something, again. As I left the parking lot, I found myself taking a fast right turn and landed in front of the school board building. In I went and just stood there like a zombie wondering why I came there. “I’ll bet you want to volunteer again this year Mrs. G.” and I honestly didn’t know how to say “no” so without thinking it through, I just said “sign me up again.” I’ll probably change my mind when the time comes; it wouldn’t be the same without your own kids there.
It’s going to be very different now. No more rushing in the mornings, rushing to the bus stop, rushing dinner, rushing showers and begging for the genius’s to please do some homework for a change. So much less laundry to do. When fall comes around again this year, there won’t be any school shopping for clothes or shoes, or gym supplies. No more shopping carts brimming with paper, pencils, notebooks, markers, rulers, and oh, those special pens they just have to have because they are so cool; and lets not forget the miniature size deodorants and breath fresheners.
After working ourselves to death for over 20 years, we almost have the house paid off, finally can put on that little addition with that badly needed extra bathroom. Years of planning to expand the kitchen, and build a small dining room. I never had a dining room before and a guest bedroom, just in case someone, anyone comes. A successful little business built on hopes and prayers, at a time when we couldn’t barely afford groceries; and not to mention my dream barn filled with wonderful horses to offer and a nice place to entertain clients. We’re all set! Now, we’re ready to really live. But apparently it’s just too late; way too late. We don’t need the addition any more and there’s no one here in line waiting to use the bathroom. No one wants to carry on the family business and let’s face it, the barn is quiet with no one home to share in the excitement of the new little foals. Doesn’t anyone need me to make up a couple of batches of brownies?
Mom always told me never to put off anything and live for the day, because life will pass you by. She told me many times to cherish every moment with the babies because they grow up so fast and will be gone in a blink of an eye. Smart woman, mom was. She always was right about everything and her predictions were always right on target. Now I know how mom felt when Dad died, my brother died, and I left home. She was alone. It’s a draining and blank feeling; like an empty room that you want to furnish.
It’s not like I’m bored; I still have work, and many projects to do, but I guess I just hate change. I think this is called the Empty Nest Syndrome. I don’t like it.
Time to turn off that darn alarm.
Sometimes I would go to parent pick up so they wouldn’t have to take the bus at all. All the kids would stampede out the doors the minute the school bell rang, but not mine. Mine would be lollygagging along at the tail end. Why? Because they had to talk to EVERYONE on their way out. Here I am, motor running, waiting and waiting in the parking lot, watching all the other parents drive away with their kids, and I’m always the last one to leave. Finally, here they come, looking like the wreck of the Hesperus. Shirts hanging out, hair a mess, food stains on them, what a couple of slobs. “Where were you guys?” Dumb question on my part. “Well he did this and he did that” and “It was not me, it was you, because you had to……..” Right. You would think after how many years I would learn not to ask. They are fighting over who’s in the front seat while I’m still sitting parked with the motor running. I finally remind them they are not in kindergarten any more but that never helps. Eventually, one kid will smack the other one upside the head, and that one will punch the other one in the arm, and I’ll get out of the truck and sit on the tailgate and tell them to let me know when they are seated and we’ll go home.
And it’s a long, long, long, way home. “Mom, he hocked a loogie in front of Mrs. B today outside during P.E.” “Did not, you are such a liar.” “Don’t believe him mom, I’m the good son.” “Mom, we got our reports cards and he’s hiding his in his locker and going to tell you he didn’t get it.” “Mom, tell him to quit touching me, he’s touching me.” “I am not touching him.” “He’s lying again mom, I’m the good son.”
When you get home, I want one of you to take out the trash, and one of you to clean the bird cage. “Not me, I did trash yesterday.” “Did not, you always lie.” “Didn’t I do the trash yesterday mom?”
I honestly can’t remember, because I have a headache. “See what you did, you gave mom a headache!” “Not me, I’m the good son.”
I was in town the other day running errands and before I could realize it, I found myself driving towards the school, like a magnet was drawing me. I drove up long driveway, shaded by lines of oak trees on both sides; passing the middle school on my right, and continuing straight ahead to the high school parking lot. I knew exactly where to park, in his spot. That will always be his parking place. No one else. I thought for a minute: he parked here, he was here in this very space every day. I can feel him.
I walked around the quiet, deserted campus and headed to the football field, where I could see the elementary school beyond. I could still smell the odor of clay and feel myself helping the kids make paste out of flour and water. Memories gushing out of me; the Sponge Bob valentine cards every year, baking dozens and dozens of brownies for the class Christmas party, and organizing the annual Christmas play. I just stood there, strolling down memory lane in my mind taking in the views. I closed my eyes and I could hear the kids screaming in the stands when we made a touchdown. Our team was always so good, but that band was pretty bad.
I gazed down the hill at the middle school and couldn’t help remember the annual science fairs. They were such a pain. One failed experiment after another for many frustrating weeks until it worked. Home made volcanoes that would erupt on command, home made battery operated machines that proved a theory, wires and gadgets and propellers all over the house. My kids were genius, in my eyes anyhow. I had to giggle when I remembered every fall when they had to make a pumpkin globe. Those stupid pumpkin globes! You had to get a pumpkin and make it look like a globe of the world. You had to designate each body of water, and each country. Easier said than done. They would be judged and the winners would get a ribbon. Countless pumpkins were painted in my kitchen, until they got them right. Another pain, but we got ribbons! Those genius kids of mine.
I drifted over to the front of the high school lawn and sat down on the one and only picnic table out there. I new what I would find; his carvings. I ran my hand over his name repeatedly and didn’t even try to hold back the tears. There was a heart with his name and his beloved Tabby’s; and again, another carving on the tree behind it, and who knows where else?
The janitors pulled up and let me walk down senior hall so I could touch their lockers. I didn’t even make it past sophomore hall and the tears came pouring out. I hoped they wouldn’t notice. The soundless empty halls, all I could hear was the clip clop of my sandals. I had a flashback of times when I would walk these halls and a teacher would spot me; “Oh, Mrs. G. I’m so glad you’re here, can I just have a few words with you for a minute?” Oh god, not again, and here would come another bombshell. Who would it be this time? Darn it! I knew their locker numbers and held my hand against them. They were open and bare inside, but I envisioned them over flowing with books and papers and notes, detention slips, CD’s, dirty stinking tee shirts and left over Dr. Pepper bottles. But not this time. They must have already cleaned them very well with disinfectant because there would have been crumbs or parts of apples or candy in one of them for sure. Nothing was there. No signs they ever were there.
It seemed like a very long journey as I made my way back down the halls; but there had to be just one more stop, the auditorium. That’s where graduation night was held. The night when we all cried endless tears of joy. The night when we were the happiest and most proud family on the face of the earth. It was nothing more than an empty room now with seats up in the folding position. No microphone, no bandstand, no teachers and no kids cheering for mine today. I’m going to miss those talent shows and school plays. It’s all over.
I stopped in front of the office and attempted to peek in, but the door was locked and by now, one of the janitors was waiting for me to leave. I looked over my shoulder once more at the office and had another flashback of the many times I sat in that office because one of my genius somebody’s had done something, again. As I left the parking lot, I found myself taking a fast right turn and landed in front of the school board building. In I went and just stood there like a zombie wondering why I came there. “I’ll bet you want to volunteer again this year Mrs. G.” and I honestly didn’t know how to say “no” so without thinking it through, I just said “sign me up again.” I’ll probably change my mind when the time comes; it wouldn’t be the same without your own kids there.
It’s going to be very different now. No more rushing in the mornings, rushing to the bus stop, rushing dinner, rushing showers and begging for the genius’s to please do some homework for a change. So much less laundry to do. When fall comes around again this year, there won’t be any school shopping for clothes or shoes, or gym supplies. No more shopping carts brimming with paper, pencils, notebooks, markers, rulers, and oh, those special pens they just have to have because they are so cool; and lets not forget the miniature size deodorants and breath fresheners.
After working ourselves to death for over 20 years, we almost have the house paid off, finally can put on that little addition with that badly needed extra bathroom. Years of planning to expand the kitchen, and build a small dining room. I never had a dining room before and a guest bedroom, just in case someone, anyone comes. A successful little business built on hopes and prayers, at a time when we couldn’t barely afford groceries; and not to mention my dream barn filled with wonderful horses to offer and a nice place to entertain clients. We’re all set! Now, we’re ready to really live. But apparently it’s just too late; way too late. We don’t need the addition any more and there’s no one here in line waiting to use the bathroom. No one wants to carry on the family business and let’s face it, the barn is quiet with no one home to share in the excitement of the new little foals. Doesn’t anyone need me to make up a couple of batches of brownies?
Mom always told me never to put off anything and live for the day, because life will pass you by. She told me many times to cherish every moment with the babies because they grow up so fast and will be gone in a blink of an eye. Smart woman, mom was. She always was right about everything and her predictions were always right on target. Now I know how mom felt when Dad died, my brother died, and I left home. She was alone. It’s a draining and blank feeling; like an empty room that you want to furnish.
It’s not like I’m bored; I still have work, and many projects to do, but I guess I just hate change. I think this is called the Empty Nest Syndrome. I don’t like it.
Time to turn off that darn alarm.
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