Chloe absolutely loves riding the bus. Some mornings in a sleepy stupor, she'll say, "You can drive me to school. Just let me sleep a little longer," but when I agree, she immediately pops out of bed and tells me she wants to ride the bus.
She has two chances to catch the bus. The first is at 7am, and the second is at 7:40.
If I am out of bed by 7am it's a miracle of God. So there's no way I can get myself up, get her up, make lunch, and have her out the door by seven. Not going to happen.
Since she catches the bus at 7:40, she has to cross the street and get on at the corner.
For the most part this has been a good plan. I walked her out the first few days, then walked her to the ditch, and now I stand on the porch as she scurries to the bus.
However, traffic has begun picking up, and the road block the county has near our house has thwarted a lot of traffic, but it will be gone soon.
She looks both ways. She is careful, but she's so little.
Today her bus driver came by the shop to talk to me after he finished his route. He said he was just too nervous to make her continue crossing the street, and offered to come turn around in the driveway if we would keep it clear for him.
What a good bus driver. What a thoughtful and caring person he must be to offer to go the extra step for Chloe.
But it left me feeling horrible. Guilty. Sick.
Instead of thanking him and telling him how nice that is, and how much I appreciate it, why didn't I say, "There's no need. I'll get my lazy ass out of bed ten minutes earlier so I can walk her across every day."
Why didn't I say that? I'm bragging about this guy going the extra mile for my daughter when I quickly wisk her out the door to get back to my blow-drying?
Being a mom is hard.