We storm out of the house each weekday morning...accounting for children and car seat buckles, school bags and lunches, sippy cups of milk and show-n-tell tubs. With one eye on the clock and the other on the minutiae, we make our good-bye rounds.
"Grantie, have fun with Miss Heidi."
He follows with a rough wave (he's still fine-tuning its mechanics) and something that sounds like "iy-dee."
"Reidaroo, be good to Mrs. Sedam and Mrs. Oslos -- it's a Rainbows class day."
"Daddy, drive safely and be a blessing at work."
The roaring engine of my husband's powerful sedan awakens, followed by the grumble of my Jeep. They slide down the driveway first, I ease out and shut the garage door. We speed away toward the neighborhood's entrance where, with patience, we wait behind other cars inching into the stoplight's growing trail. Sometimes we make it in together, sometimes I have to catch up to the charcoal muscle car with two little bumps sprouting from the backseat windows.
I most always do though. It's like the final goodbye -- the final send-off towards the hours that meld into school and drafting and doting and learning.
There's the light at 106th Street that collects worker cars, school cars, gym cars, and the occasional semi-truck heading back toward the city. It's on the slowest timer and I usually find them there, talking and looking around, as I pull into the adjacent lane. I wonder what they're saying...I wonder if Grant has fallen back to sleep...I wonder if Reid is singing radio tunes since, most likely, my husband is listening the The Police. And then I wonder if he'll turn and look my direction...
He does and makes eyes like fireworks exploding on a dark summer night. His lips mouth, "Daddy! There's Mommy!" And then a smaller hand shoots up...with that little mechanical wave. If I could see his eyes...I know they'd be wide pools of blue, inviting me in to take a dip.
I blow Reid a kiss, his exaggerated catch overflows into its landing on his rosy cheek.
He blows me one and I follow suit.
The light turns green and the lanes spread us apart... The Jeep heads east and the Charger west. But that's just logistics; we're really altogether.
My heart says we are.