It’s 6:42 a.m.  and I am on the porch swing in front of the house. I hear the crickets and the birds making their loud chirpy and warbly noises.  The birds are braver than the crickets. Birds don’t care if a muscle car with loud tailpipes or a diesel engine truck tear up our street at this early hour.  Crickets chicken out and stop chirping when cars go by.

I have already put Randa on her bus.  She wasn’t exactly happy to go today.  “Clouds hiding,” she muttered sadly as she boarded. 
She is a sunshine girl.  So she will have a mostly melancholy day with intermittent smiling.

The youngest two fly past me on the porch shouting goodbyes and I love yous with mouths full of breakfast sandwich,  backpacks flopping on their backs,  as they rush across the street to catch their bus.  I wait,  hopeful.  The bus pulls away and I breathe a heavy sigh and gather my empty coffee mug and head into the house.

Clearly,  my third child has issues with punctuality.  And now I must prepare to dump him off on my way to my other appointments with people who do care about time. 

That second cup of coffee is looking mighty good right now.  And while I don’t own a muscle car with loud tailpipes,  my 3-cylinder subcompact has a squeaky belt that’ll shut those crickets right up.

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