Where is the bus?

Monday morning after the time change.
My fifth grade boy wanted to stay burrowed in his bed.
Eventually he got up, ate and dressed.
The school bus was 20 minutes late.
An unusual occurrence.
A snowball fight ensued.
Throwing, dodging, trash talk, laughter, and a few hits too.
Where is the bus?
Each creak and squeak carried on the air got our hopes up.
Nope.
Dump truck.
End loader.
It’s also garbage day in our neighborhood.
What time is it?
We speculated on where the bus might be.
Broken down?
Driver overslept?
Or got amnesia?
One boy asked, “What’s that?”
I replied, “When you forget who you are.”
Then we saw the flash of yellow begin as the bus appeared around a corner.
The bus!
There it is!
Finally.
Just in a nick o’time to take the children to school without being late.
All snow play ceased as the line formed once again.
One by one they step aboard.
“Good morning,” says the driver.
*whew*
Made it.

March 10, 2014
Nothing like a little bit of extra excitement on a groggy Monday, the day after the time change.

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