Have you ever stopped to ponder how things can go so spectacularly tits up in such a small space of time?
It is something that happens to me a lot, and this morning was no exception.
We were rushing out of the door. We usually do, but that way, I seem to get everyone where they need to be by the skin of my teeth. This morning, though, I think it’s fair to say that I got down to the enamel – nay, the dentine – and still, Boy Seymour failed to catch his bus.
Now, this isn’t the first time. On one occasion, the chap seemed not to notice as his bus passed by, so engrossed was he in his phone screen. And on another, he decided that he’d get on the “other” bus home, only to find that the bus he needed had already gone, resulting in a cold, long wait for rescue.
This morning, we drove into the village to see the bus coming up the road. There it is, we all said, and silently (sarcastically) congratulated ourselves on our excellent time-keeping. I pulled in to drop Boy and Number Two off. Number Two got out of the car, checked the road, crossed carefully and got on the bus without a fuss.
Boy, however, did not manage this.
On the drive into the village, I was asking him about how he often seems to get on a different (aka the wrong) bus home. I requested that he try harder to find the correct one in future, which served to make him cross. So when he saw the bus coming, he declared that he could no longer cross the road safely. He sat still, refusing to move. I can only assume this was his way of punishing me for questioning his liberty (or some such b@ll@cks that this entitled generation spouts).
Mummy Seymour thought fast. I worry about him crossing the road and he knows it. So, I parked Minty the Polo, and got out to do unofficial lollipop duty. I ain’t shy.
At this point, Boy appeared to be uncomfortable. Having got out of the car after his sister (who was now on the bus), he starts walking back to the passenger door.The clock is ticking, work beckons and the effing bus engine is revving. Cars – so many cars from nowhere – are now hindering our progress – and Boy’s bus drives off!
I was surprised. Surely the driver could see the shenanigans in his mirror? Is he not duty-bound to wait for the kid who clearly needed this ride? Or did the look on the face of the angry banshee halting traffic in the middle of the high street scare him away? If he didn’t see it, you can bet his passengers did.
So there we were, poor Boy and I, him on one side of the road and me the other, with the bus gone and the sky black, and cars moving between us. He was upset and embarrassed. I was cross, yet I was acutely aware that this could all go horribly wrong if either one of us got complacent. I scooped up the house keys, carefully ran the gauntlet across the road to hand them over and instructed Boy to go home. He simply couldn’t understand why I was unable to drive him to school, but as I pointed out, Mummy Seymour has a job now, and a class of my own waiting.
I gave him the key, and left him there, to make the short walk home, and as I did so, the heavens opened.
Yes, I did feel for him.
I felt guilty that I have a job. Guilty that I’d embarrassed him. (I didn’t mean to, honest!)
Sad that he was sad. And no doubt, wet. And cold. But I was fuming, too, because somehow, we are always cutting things fine, and nobody ever seems to grasp the concept of “WE NEED TO LEAVE. NOW!”
So there he was, making the short-ish walk back up the hill and home, to spend a day contemplating his bad luck in having such a bad mother, and there I was, on the phone to Big Seymour in front of a class of 26 bemused 12 year-olds, deliberating whether I had time to dash him to school at break, and hoping the deluge hadn’t washed my boy away completely, when he messaged me.
All he wanted to do was go to school, he wrote.
Luckily for Boy Seymour though, our lovely neighbour was driving past, rescued him from the rain, and even took him to school for me.
He got his wish. And according to ClassCharts, he wasn’t even late. 🙂
(Whilst I am elated that he wants to attend school, I can’t deny that it makes me suspicious. Is this normal behaviour? Wouldn’t most kids grasp an opportunity to bunk off with both hands? Very odd. Must investigate.)
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