When BoBo was young, he attended a public elementary school not far from our house. On rainy days, while I was still home on extended maternity leave, I picked him up by car. In doing so, the routine was for the cars to line up ahead of time and move up as to fill the gaps when a car moved left and onward with their precious cargo inside.
If you were unlucky enough to have a child who drug their feet so-to-speak, you were not allowed to leave your car (even to stand curbside and YELL for the boy) or the “parking nazi” would come YELL AT YOU! She did not care if your newborn baby was screaming bloody murder inside the car.
Now-a-days, I am one of the last to roll into the parking lot at the end of the day to retrieve that same baby that was screaming for his BoBo to hurry up. He’s not-so-young anymore and, fortunately for me, he’s also not so slow. In fact, I can generally see him playing in the courtyard while I make my way from one end of the lot to the other. I see him. He sees me. And he runs inside, retrieves his backpack, and hurries to the car with a big smile on his face and a genuine “How was your day?”
It’s pretty sweet. I sure do love that boy!