Wednesday, January 29, 2020
He called himself a "swimmer"!
"I cannot walk even one more step," he said from the back seat.
"Go get your homework," I said.
"But I cannot walk. At all. We had to do the mile run in PE, and I cannot walk anymore."
"Go to your locker. Get your homework. We are holding up car line, and people are going to get mad at us again."
"And the PE teacher says I have to do the mile again on Monday. He said he's never had anyone go more more 13 minutes before."
"13 minutes?"
"Yeah, but I was under 13. My time was 12:58, and he STILL says I have to do it again."
"Did you walk?"
"Well, duh. I told him I'm a swimmer, not a runner."
"Oh, well! Let's just go swim a mile, and then I'll tell him you're good to go."
"How about we don't, but tell him we did?"
"How about you just go get your homework out of your locker?"
"OK. But my legs are literally going to fall off."
"Well, then you probably won't have to run that mile again."
"I'll go get my stuff."
"Go get your homework," I said.
"But I cannot walk. At all. We had to do the mile run in PE, and I cannot walk anymore."
"Go to your locker. Get your homework. We are holding up car line, and people are going to get mad at us again."
"And the PE teacher says I have to do the mile again on Monday. He said he's never had anyone go more more 13 minutes before."
"13 minutes?"
"Yeah, but I was under 13. My time was 12:58, and he STILL says I have to do it again."
"Did you walk?"
"Well, duh. I told him I'm a swimmer, not a runner."
"Oh, well! Let's just go swim a mile, and then I'll tell him you're good to go."
"How about we don't, but tell him we did?"
"How about you just go get your homework out of your locker?"
"OK. But my legs are literally going to fall off."
"Well, then you probably won't have to run that mile again."
"I'll go get my stuff."
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| Once upon a time, he was a swimmer. |
It was worth it
When you bring the forgotten backpack to the front office of school, and the receptionist, who you're just getting to know, puts her hands to heart and tilts her head a little, and says, "Oh my goodness. He's just the best," it makes the trip to drop off the forgotten backpack, despite the hassle and the traffic and the how-did-you-walk-right-past-it-ness, totally worth it.
We're not the only ones
From Nov. 19, 2019 ...
I missed the bus this morning with some other mother’s kid, a seventh-grader who lives on the cul-de-sac behind us, who Peanut and I see most mornings when out for our walk. He’s small, and sweet, which is a very Southern description and not one I usually use, but he is, in such a way that I’ve never mentioned he should come over and play because my children would eat him alive.
Today, he was several steps ahead of us and in a hurry, and I didn’t say “Good morning,” because I knew why he was rushing. He was about to miss the bus. But Peanut wanted to catch up, not understanding that her friend might be in a little trouble, and so we trotted close enough that when I stepped on an acorn, he heard it and turned.
“I think I’m going to miss the bus,” he said.
“I think you’re going to, too. We don’t want to slow you down.”
“OK! I’ll talk to you tomorrow!” he said, and he hurried on.
Seconds later, we both saw the bus pull up to the distant corner, and he turned around again, shrugging.
“Guess I missed it,” he said.
“Don’t you think if you run, they’ll see you and wait?”
“Maybe. Bye!”
And he ran a few steps, but the bus pulled away without noticing him.
“Oh, well,” he said. “Now, at least, I can stop and pet Peanut.”
So he did, and then he went to tell his mother, I suppose, that he needed a ride to school.
And I stood there with the dog, thinking how different some people’s lives must be, yet, still, so very similar.
And then Peanut and I walked home to start dragging the boys of Shady Brook Lane out of bed.
I missed the bus this morning with some other mother’s kid, a seventh-grader who lives on the cul-de-sac behind us, who Peanut and I see most mornings when out for our walk. He’s small, and sweet, which is a very Southern description and not one I usually use, but he is, in such a way that I’ve never mentioned he should come over and play because my children would eat him alive.
Today, he was several steps ahead of us and in a hurry, and I didn’t say “Good morning,” because I knew why he was rushing. He was about to miss the bus. But Peanut wanted to catch up, not understanding that her friend might be in a little trouble, and so we trotted close enough that when I stepped on an acorn, he heard it and turned.
“I think I’m going to miss the bus,” he said.
“I think you’re going to, too. We don’t want to slow you down.”
“OK! I’ll talk to you tomorrow!” he said, and he hurried on.
Seconds later, we both saw the bus pull up to the distant corner, and he turned around again, shrugging.
“Guess I missed it,” he said.
“Don’t you think if you run, they’ll see you and wait?”
“Maybe. Bye!”
And he ran a few steps, but the bus pulled away without noticing him.
“Oh, well,” he said. “Now, at least, I can stop and pet Peanut.”
So he did, and then he went to tell his mother, I suppose, that he needed a ride to school.
And I stood there with the dog, thinking how different some people’s lives must be, yet, still, so very similar.
And then Peanut and I walked home to start dragging the boys of Shady Brook Lane out of bed.
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| Once upon a time, the Neumann kids were at the bus stop on time. |
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