THE NAVIGATOR

We do a lot of preparation in our house: In ten minutes we’re getting in the car. In two minutes, we’re getting in the car.

Unfortunately, one of our children also has an uncanny ability to navigate, so we have to prepare that one for the route as well: We’re going to turn left instead of right up here, but we will still get to the playground. It’s called a detour. (This one once looked up from her painting, asked where the thunderstorm had gone, and when I said “east,” she said, “how long ago?” When I told her it had passed about 20 minutes ago, she nodded, satisfied, and said, “OK, then it’s in Lansing now,” which it was. I do not recommend having this kind of child if you wish to believe that you have mastered anything.)

This is all to say we prepared the children for the schoolbus. For weeks. You’re going to be able to see SO many more tractors from up high! / You’ll have each other! / Isn’t it cool that the bus knows where to stop? / Do you think your bus driver is nervous, too?