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| Too tired to even read the menu after unloading the truck. |
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| IKEA Pittsburgh. *sniff* I miss you #212! |
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| Cool blue. 🙂 |
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| I don’t even know what to say. |
There was a snag in the school registration, so today is actually day 2. Both kids seem to enjoy it, although Sunshine clearly got the better deal. The Reno Kid’s bus picks him up at 6:47am. Previously, he was picked up at 7:20. If my math is correct, it feels like he is getting up at 5:00 now. And his body “is still in Minnesota, Mom.” Yeah, ok, whatever. Get up already. 🙂
Today was her first morning on the bus because she is still willing to let me take her to school on the first day. It was a tradition I started with him in kindergarten. I take a picture of them with their bright and shining faces and sent them off to soak up knowledge. If the smiles were gone by the end of day 3 and they were no longer clean… well, at least I had proof the first day went well. The trees in PA are already starting to change colors and my internal clock (thrown off by 11 years living elsewhere) was secretly cheering. I took the garbage to the dumpster, and then went to stand by her at the bus stop. Bless her heart, she took my hand. The bus pulled up and an older woman opened the door. I panicked. Did she have her bus pass? Yes, she came home on the bus, but she hadn’t actually gone to school yet. No worries. My cool-as-a-cucumber kid nonchalantly walked up the steps, was greeted by name by the driver and took her seat. Alrighty, then.
I walked back to this craptastic apartment we found and checked the mail box. There is no outgoing slot on the steel box that holds all of our courtyard’s mail. It is mounted on a pole, but the pole is crooked and the box is not mounted square. The whole impression is that the mailbox is looking just past your left foot. You have to contort yourself a little to get your mail. I turned and grabbed a newspaper from the local free paper’s box. You know you’re somewhere special when all of the women are referred to as ladies in every article and the men are sometimes called “fella” in print. I bemoaned the changes in an earlier post, but maybe I was looking too wide. Maybe I needed to look deeper at Pennsylvania. Underneath the gaudy trappings, she still wears my grandmother’s housecoat and still drops in for coffee unannounced.
