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Stop blinking

It's midterm week in the high school.
They have 2 blocks of mid terms and then essentially, done for the day.
There are scheduled buses at the regular end of day time but since I don't work, I taxi.

And of course the boys midterms are at exact opposite times of each other.

Oldest goes in on the bus.
I drop off youngest at 10 while I then pick up oldest and  go back at 1130 for youngest.

I don't really mind (though it would be nicer if we lived closer to school)
but this is part of the Mom gig that I signed up for.

My favorite part is arriving early.
The preschool is attached to the HS and it's recess time.

My kids are both alum of the school, so it makes me smile every time I watch the little ones running around on the playground.

Today is windy.
They are all buttoned up, accompanied by wooly hats and mittens.

I watch one little boy spin in circles.
Until he drops.
A friend runs over to, I assume; see if he is okay.
But then she drops on her bottom and both start giggling.
They both stand up and this time, grab hands as they spin in unison.

I am enamored at their innocence.
I love that their biggest problem of the day may be trying to get their little fingers in and out of their mittens.
Or trying to figure out how to put on their jacket as they lay it on the ground, backwards and upside down so they can put their arms into it and flip it over their heads.

The high schoolers start to pour out.

Ruffled hair and sweatpants for the most of the boys.
Ugg slippers and oversized water bottles for the girls.

I hear them asking how their tests were as they head towards their own cars.
Many of them driving themselves to and from school.

Youngest appears in similar high school teen attire ( a hoodie).
He is inches taller than me now.
His braces shine as he talks to me about how his Social Studies test went.

The preschoolers are all lining up to go inside.
Snack and story time await them.

I'm almost positive if I close my eyes for longer than a second
that it was just yesterday my kids were finger painting in that very same school.

I smile at my young son as he talks about his next mid term
and wish for just a minute that  he would ask me to open his juice box for him.





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