I was in my car today for 47 hours.
In a town that is—maybe— 3 miles wide and 3 miles long.
This is a lot of hours.
3 bus drivers gave me dirty looks for parking in the wrong spot. I have lovingly started referring to them as the bus-nazis and they’re only doing their job and their only job is to keep kids safe so I need to be a nicer person, but FOR THE LOVE—
Where can I park?
Preschool drop-off is a whole new thing for me and we’ve been in business 4 weeks and I’ve been in trouble 32 times and there are white lines and red lines and yellow lines and so I decided to park like forever away and my little guy, said, “Daycare lady, why did we park so far away?”
And so we worked on my name.
And then it was time for Coulter.
And there was a funeral.
On the eastside.
And as I waited for 3 hours at the 4-way stop at Luther and Military, I thought how ridiculous it is to have a funeral get out at the same time as school.
And then I felt badly. Like, ya know, for the dead guy. He’d probably rather be in the 3-hour carpool lane.
And at some point I passed Coulter walking which is only important later in my story. What’s important now is that I didn’t see him and I’ve been in the car for 12 hours.
That’s a lot of hours.
I didn’t have my phone. The children of Pearl like to hide my phone. It’s their way of saying, “We love you, Miss Myra.”
And they don’t hide it but I do lose it.
Every dang second.
(Side note: I later found it on the shelf next to the bread. Whole grain, of course!)
And so I drove and I drove I didn’t see Coulter and so I drove some more around the school, dodging children and busses and road-rage mommas and then back again and then I saw his brother.
I discreetly, as not to embarrass him, yelled his name from across the street, while in a moving car and he didn’t even act embarrassed to see me and I love that.
We talked about his helmet and other important things and then I borrowed his phone.
I continued on, looking for Coulter when I found myself 450 cars deep at the 4-way stop.
And maybe we need to rethink the courtesy of pulling over during funeral procession.
And maybe I need to be a nicer person.
3.2 hours later I return to Pearl and there’s this kid, cute and blond and seriously just a little bit ruggedly handsome and taller than I, which is the super confusing part, and there’s this kid with his head in the fridge and I say, “Where were you?” And he says “Where were you?” And then I cry because of the whole mom-guilt thing.
And then Emma Claire needed her volleyball gear which are words I’m pretty sure I never imagined myself saying, but volleyball.
It’s a thing.
And so I drive 2 more hours and find her knee-pads on the table and her socks in Coulter’s room and her itty-bitty-teensi-weensie- volleyball shorts (for the love!) on her floor to the right of her bed (just where she said they would be) and I take them to her school.
She was kind of happy to see me and kind of not happy and that, in a weird way, made me happy.
And then I went back to Pearl and Sebastian said, “Miss Myra! You’re back!” and he was happy and Maren said, “Mah!” Which means, “Miss Myra! You’re back!” and I love my Pearl family.
And I love my family-family.
And it reminds me that my sweet, dear friend gave me a coaster for my birthday that said “I love Fremont” and oh, it took me a long while and it was a “fake it until you make it” situation but I think I finally made it.
Oh, how I love my little Fremont. 3 miles wide and 52 car-hours deep.