Snowy Monday mornings make me long for summer –
when children sleep in
and no one cries about their clothes.
That peaceful reign is distant from today’s anarchy.
Bodies collide in hallways,
shoes are wrestled onto unwilling feet,
both food and clothing negotiations culminate in hysteria.
We spill into the garage
a cacophony of nagging and whining.
Grievances abound until we reach the school’s circle drive –
a place of injustice amnesia.
Ill will erased,
little limbs clamber for hugs,
fumble with backpacks,
and tumble out the door.
The teacher on duty marshals me
into the departure lane.
I drive slowly,
tracking the kids in the rear view mirror.
Wistfulness cuts into my relief
as I watch them confidently walk away from me.