The scene opens on a frosty March Friday. The kind that will eventually make it to around 65 degrees once the sun comes out, if it ever does. But for the moment it was foggy, cold and damp and I couldn't help but cringe when Nate came bounding down the stairs in basketball shorts and t-shirt.
He headed out the door a minute before I did, forgetting his sweatshirt, which was draped on the arm of the couch. I grabbed it for him and and walked up to the bus stop to hand it over, just as the bus was pulling up.
Yeah.
The driver saw me and opened the door, so I stepped up onto the bus for a millisecond and handed the sweatshirt to my horrified son. No big deal,right?
As soon as I arrived back home, I was greeted with an explanation of how very, very wrong this was of me.
"Mom! Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared! Even the EIGHTH GRADE girls in the back!"
I replied that maybe those girls should get a life.
His reply: "They HAVE lives,Mom! They have lives in which their MOTHER doesn't get on the bus to give them a jacket!!"
OK. I guess it's time Nate should have one of those lives too. Sigh.
