Adventures in Bus-riding
Sep. 7th, 2016 09:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
matrilToday was the first day of school for Ryan and Emma. Ryan's starting third-grade at the school down the street, so I'll be walking him down there every day just like I did for him and Emma last year. My tiny little daughter, however, is starting middle school.
There are two middle schools in our district, and we live about the same distance from each of them. Though we're officially assigned to one of them, Emma wanted to attend the other because that's where all her friends from elementary school would be going. It didn't make much difference to me - either way, she'd need to walk to a bus stop out of sight of our house. And I couldn't walk with her because the pick-up time is before Luke's bus comes to our house. I can't leave Luke unattended that long.
I have been agonizing over this pretty much ever since we moved to this house, when I looked up where the middle school bus stops were. I've had more nightmares than I can count about this portentous first day of school going horribly wrong. Really weird dreams that have me waking up in a panic until I remind myself that whatever happens, it probably won't involve all of us riding on some futuristic train and losing our shoes in a dirty bathroom in the middle of nowhere. Or whatever other random terrors my brain has produced.
I know that I walked alone down a similarly busy street to my bus stop when I was Emma's age. It seemed perfectly normal. It seems unthinkable now. But she is eleven, and she's a very smart, capable girl, certainly no less than I was. I finally decided we would get Emma a phone so she could let me know she arrived safely - a little no-frills Tracphone to match her dad's. Yes, she is only the second person in our family to own a cell phone. I'm at home all day; the landline is enough for me.
So we got her phone and set it up for her and made sure she knew how to call me. She had her backpack all ready, and we'd practiced walking down to the bus stop. I even drew her a little map to remind her where to go - it's not really that complicated, but it made us both feel better. Then, this morning, she was on her way.
She called me just as I was getting Luke dressed. I answered, and quickly discovered that she could hardly hear a word I was saying. I realize now that we probably needed to turn up the volume on the phone, but in my frantic state I could only think that something was broken and I wasn't going to be able to talk to my daughter. She was at the right intersection, waiting for the light to change so she could cross on the pedestrian signal. It's actually a fairly quiet street, but it's right next to a super busy intersection, so it's wise to wait for the signal. Except the button to request the signal apparently wasn't working. She'd pressed it multiple times and nothing was happening. Just her luck that that particular button was unresponsive. We've used other buttons at that intersection without any problem.
So I was hollering at the top of my lungs, trying to assure her that even if she was on the wrong side, the bus driver should still be able to see her and she would be able to safely cross and get on the bus...hollers that were making Luke more and more agitated, while Emma still had no idea what I was saying...and then she was crying, and I couldn't take it anymore. I told Emma I was coming - hoped she understood me - and dashed down the street. Luke seemed in a stay-in-bed mood; his bus wouldn't be there for another ten minutes, and I couldn't leave my daughter alone in tears. I found her at the other side of the street, sobbing that the bus had come but hadn't seen her - that another kid had been on the proper side of the street, looking down at a phone and not noticing Emma, and then had left without a glance at her. I walked her home, promising we'd get her a ride to school, trying to be calm and reassuring but feeling more like spitting words of fury at defective traffic buttons and too-quiet phones and careless bus drivers.
I called a friend who has frequently helped us with emergency rides in the past. Somewhere in the middle of this Luke's bus came and I got him off without much fuss - just another day for him; he never even knew I had left and come back. My friend came over with her toddlers as fast as she could. A service which I will be happily repaying with a lot of babysitting, I'm sure.
And I told Emma, well, things could only get better from here, right? I really do think she'll cheer up quickly once she gets to experience the new school she's been impatient for all summer...and can come home on the bus, letting the driver know that she'll be waiting there for pick-up in the morning....but my reassurances are as much for myself as for her. The worst happened, and the world didn't end. We can work out the wrinkles. In a few weeks, everything should have settled into a comfortable routine. And then my brain can find some other nonsense to form the stuff of my anxiety dreams.
There are two middle schools in our district, and we live about the same distance from each of them. Though we're officially assigned to one of them, Emma wanted to attend the other because that's where all her friends from elementary school would be going. It didn't make much difference to me - either way, she'd need to walk to a bus stop out of sight of our house. And I couldn't walk with her because the pick-up time is before Luke's bus comes to our house. I can't leave Luke unattended that long.
I have been agonizing over this pretty much ever since we moved to this house, when I looked up where the middle school bus stops were. I've had more nightmares than I can count about this portentous first day of school going horribly wrong. Really weird dreams that have me waking up in a panic until I remind myself that whatever happens, it probably won't involve all of us riding on some futuristic train and losing our shoes in a dirty bathroom in the middle of nowhere. Or whatever other random terrors my brain has produced.
I know that I walked alone down a similarly busy street to my bus stop when I was Emma's age. It seemed perfectly normal. It seems unthinkable now. But she is eleven, and she's a very smart, capable girl, certainly no less than I was. I finally decided we would get Emma a phone so she could let me know she arrived safely - a little no-frills Tracphone to match her dad's. Yes, she is only the second person in our family to own a cell phone. I'm at home all day; the landline is enough for me.
So we got her phone and set it up for her and made sure she knew how to call me. She had her backpack all ready, and we'd practiced walking down to the bus stop. I even drew her a little map to remind her where to go - it's not really that complicated, but it made us both feel better. Then, this morning, she was on her way.
She called me just as I was getting Luke dressed. I answered, and quickly discovered that she could hardly hear a word I was saying. I realize now that we probably needed to turn up the volume on the phone, but in my frantic state I could only think that something was broken and I wasn't going to be able to talk to my daughter. She was at the right intersection, waiting for the light to change so she could cross on the pedestrian signal. It's actually a fairly quiet street, but it's right next to a super busy intersection, so it's wise to wait for the signal. Except the button to request the signal apparently wasn't working. She'd pressed it multiple times and nothing was happening. Just her luck that that particular button was unresponsive. We've used other buttons at that intersection without any problem.
So I was hollering at the top of my lungs, trying to assure her that even if she was on the wrong side, the bus driver should still be able to see her and she would be able to safely cross and get on the bus...hollers that were making Luke more and more agitated, while Emma still had no idea what I was saying...and then she was crying, and I couldn't take it anymore. I told Emma I was coming - hoped she understood me - and dashed down the street. Luke seemed in a stay-in-bed mood; his bus wouldn't be there for another ten minutes, and I couldn't leave my daughter alone in tears. I found her at the other side of the street, sobbing that the bus had come but hadn't seen her - that another kid had been on the proper side of the street, looking down at a phone and not noticing Emma, and then had left without a glance at her. I walked her home, promising we'd get her a ride to school, trying to be calm and reassuring but feeling more like spitting words of fury at defective traffic buttons and too-quiet phones and careless bus drivers.
I called a friend who has frequently helped us with emergency rides in the past. Somewhere in the middle of this Luke's bus came and I got him off without much fuss - just another day for him; he never even knew I had left and come back. My friend came over with her toddlers as fast as she could. A service which I will be happily repaying with a lot of babysitting, I'm sure.
And I told Emma, well, things could only get better from here, right? I really do think she'll cheer up quickly once she gets to experience the new school she's been impatient for all summer...and can come home on the bus, letting the driver know that she'll be waiting there for pick-up in the morning....but my reassurances are as much for myself as for her. The worst happened, and the world didn't end. We can work out the wrinkles. In a few weeks, everything should have settled into a comfortable routine. And then my brain can find some other nonsense to form the stuff of my anxiety dreams.
