I remember putting A&P on the bus for their first day of preschool- they were in the "special program" because they didn't speak much of anything that anyone could understand. The people that gave them the assessment just looked at me like I'd totally screwed them up and they were only 3. A&P knew what they were saying. After a lot on unintelligible stuff, things would happen, like they'd rip the blinds off the windows. So don't tell me they're behind, you persnikety preschool assessment people. I'll never forget hating on them. Not that I'm bitter.
Anyway, I put them on that big old bus to send them to preschool to learn to talk like everyone else (like that's important), unstrapped, just loose to fly all over the place. They had to go over two sets of railroad tracks to get to the school. Part of the way was a divided highway. Some of it was a two lane road with a ditch next to it. Dang you Wood County and your bus eating ditches. (Back before I was worried about the ditches eating the car, I was pretty convinced they could gulp down a cheese wagon.)
A&P hollered and moaned. I gasped and beat my chest like a tribal medicine woman being attacked by a python. It was horrible. I found out later that the neighbors watched the whole thing. Like we were their own personal Telemundo- all the thrashing and wailing but without the priest or the kidnapping or the subtitles.
A&P finally got on that giant bus. They were the only children on it. I ran to my car and I chased that giant bus. I wanted to make sure that if it ran into the ditch I could fish the boys out through the window. Screw the bus driver, she could save herself. At a stop light, I actually made the mistake of pulling up next to the right side of the bus. I peered into the bus for a glimpse and to my horror the bus driver opened the door and gave me the "roll down your window, you psycho" sign. So I did. "Go to work," she said. And I did. After I fluffed up my shrub costume so I'd be ready for recess.
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