I closed the door behind daughter #3 this a.m. as she walked out to catch the school bus and this question kept ringing through my hollow and caffeine-starved head: Why does it seem like a small miracle when all three of the girls actually catch the school bus on the very same day?
It isn’t like we haven’t been through this routine for going on 9 years now–you would think it was that, routine. But not in this house. Permission slips and time charts need to be signed at the last minute, some days I’m writing out checks for lunch money accounts as the bus pulls up in front of our house. And it starts with the same thing: time to get up, time to get up, THE BUS COMES IN TEN MINUTES!
Two of them tell me they grab breakfast at school, the third gets instant oatmeal on a good day (pop tarts on a bad–of course what is good and what is bad is determined differently by that child than by me), and if all three have placed a toothbrush in their mouth for any period of time before they leave the house, I do feel like it will definitely be a good day.
Why, though? Why do I feel so elated in the moment when these things come to pass, or, like the carride to the airport before a trip, that there isn’t much more I can do about what has happened thus far in the morning I should just be grateful for the quiet of this moment and the possibility it holds.
The other question I have this morning but which will have to wait for another post, perhaps another day, is “why do we humans ask why?” There often is a scientific reason to answer the question why, but that is rarely the reason any of us really asks why. And, when given answers to why questions, more often than not, we scrunch our noses, squint our eyes, tilt our heads and say “no, that’s not it.”
Alas, tis time to work and ponder on other miracles and questions.