When the Car Pool Line Makes You Cry

There are few things in this world that can scare a parent( besides the obvious of our child being injured in some horrible way). We have seen what seems to be a  lifetime of projectile bodily fluids in directions we didn’t know existed and landing into crevices we also never knew existed. We have seen tantrums that range from the obvious (Mom I have been up for 17 hours straight and only ate 3 animal crackers, I am cranky) to the obnoxiously ridiculous (I AM SCREAMING IN THE STORE BECAUSE I HAVE BEEN UP FOR 17 HOURS AND ALL YOU GAVE ME WAS THREE STUPID CRACKERS, YOU MONSTER!) But there is nothing NOTHING more frightening than having a car jam packed with kids who are screaming while you are stuck in the carpool line watching that parent (You Know Who They Are)cutting off everybody else, or watching Susan stand and talk to her friend in the road. Or waiting for Susan’s two other children Aloe Vera and Bernice fall and smack their heads because no one is watching them climbing the flag pole. Get your shit together Susan.

So anyway my daughter’s school expanded two more grades. I couldn’t help but think how great it was. 1 min from my car and 4 minutes to walk. Either way if I was running late I could just get there in a matter of minutes. Two more years of this bliss. This is a mom’s dream- my kid can run late BUT still be early. I was so happy. Then I got into the longest pool line on Earth.


Where we live, the town is separated into the hills and the flats. We live in the hills area, 2 min away from the Main Street and all those adorable shops and restaurants. However, the street I must sit on if I am running late to get my daughter is on a hill. Like a San Francisco hill. My car is on such a steep angle that last year my car stalled. I had gas but ALL of it pooled to the front and my car stalled on the hill. I’m pumping the breaks and when they fail I grabbed the emergency break. I’m flailing my arms on this 45 degree angle. My son falls asleep in the car and his head just flops so far down he is snoring and choking on his own chin and spit.

I shut my car off so I don’t waste the gas therefore my car doesn’t stall. But now I am stuck where I am falling into the steering wheel and sweating because it’s not just hot, it’s pea soup hot. I look ahead and I see the healthy yoga moms who walked with not a drop of sweat on their brow talking. The tired moms who flipped their fingers off to their closet standing there in their pjs and slippers, and of course there’s Susan with her children halfway up the side of the building. Then you have the crossing guards who have no idea which direction anyone is coming in even though it’s a one way street. Then everyone freezes because they see a cop. He looks around and then leaves. THE CAR POOL LINE IS SO BAD THE OFFICER OF THE LAW BOLTS. The baby starts to cry and I throw my short arm back to soothe her which in reality is just a Stumpy arm flapping about the air because I can’t reach her. By this point the kids are lining up outside and I have completely hyper-extended my elbow. Finally it’s my turn and I pull up to the front. All the teachers are on radios which is completely new this year. They look at the name of the tag on my car and start calling for my eldest. I hear the name Emma being called out “Emma!” “Emma?” Emma!!” I jump out of the car as she is escorted out of the doors.  She smiles and walks over. The walk between the front doors and my car seemed as if my daughter had been carrying around a golden ring she needed to throw in a pit of fire. What the hell was taking so long??

“Hi mo-” I proceeded to rip her backpack off and throw it into the front seat and yelling at her “go go go go!” I buckled her in and finally sped off. The air I am gulping could never satisfy the feeling of utter exacerbation I felt. I didn’t know if I needed 3 excedrins or a bunch of Xanax. I pulled up at home and got the kids situated inside. I finally flopped down on the couch only to realize I had to go through this fresh hell again twice tomorrow.

Bring it on, Susan

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