On those mornings this is what goes on around here.
Carpool #1 pulls up between 8:05-8:15.
Ben has his eyes closed in this picture, but what I love is Emily carrying Noah through the car window.
This one is better. Well, not by much.
Carpool #1 leaves and Carpool #2 pulls up between 8:10-8:15.
Sometimes they overlap and then it feels like grand central station. We do the phone code of calling and hanging up after a few rings so that I know they are here. I now have to look at the caller ID to see which kid I need to summon to the front door when the phone rings.
And after my two oldest kids are loaded up and on their way to school, it's just me and my little guy.
I don't think he's too happy about it.
Should I be offended?
2 comments:
Too funny :D And then guess what - when they're teens, we don't even go up to the door anymore or have a certain ring - we text that we're here in the driveway. Jim thinks it's ridiculous, but every single person I know with teenagers does this. Even the parents. We'll stop to pick up one of Sarah's friends and he will say "Aren't you going up to the door?" and we look at him like he's crazy.
Sorry, I haven't commented lately, have just been very busy at work and dead tired at night, but I did want to mention that Ben looks less than excited about car pooling for school on Monday morning. I wonder if that was not so much the going to school,but, the fact that he was not being delivered by his mother. I'd be interested to know if his day went Ok once the car pulled away from the driveway. Emily looked completely at ease with her start to another week of school, teacher and friends.And as for Noah, he's never had the experience of having mommy all to himself and probably doesn't have a clue what's going on and he looks like he is climbing the door to get out and be with his big sis. Little does he know that he should be having a ball all alone and having your undivided attention.
Now, aren't you glad I didn't have time for comments for the past week or so? LOL!I'll try to do better. ☼
Love,
G.
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