I drove the girls to school today. They are supposed to walk. Or catch a bus. They could cycle if they wanted. And I promised myself I wouldn’t drive them any more. But as the clock ticked by from 7am to 8am to 8.10am to 8.12, 15, 21, 24 it became inevitable. I mean really it was inevitable at 7am when no one moved.
The drive to school is more symptom than pathogen. Behind the drive to school is over an hour of doors slamming, walls getting a kicking, delicious breakfasts left to go cold, screaming at locked bathroom doors behind which showers are running, books and bags and trainers flying at eye level and stair stomping that register a richter reading.
As we approach the school I carefully navigate the question of where they want to be dropped. Not in front of other students, not too far from the gate, not round the corner where a friend lives and definitely not in the car park. The girl sitting in the front throws her bag out the door and slams it behind her. The two in the back get out pavement side. The first deliberately bumps into her sister because it was her turn in the front. The second is still in the car when I call out my ‘ I love you’s. She stops and sights before she gets out. ‘Have a good day, honey,’ I say. ‘I will NOT,’ she throws back at me. Gets out and slams the door.
On my way home I count up the number of doors that have been slammed. And I wonder where I will find the space for my meltdowns.
