Snow ribbons, a bus and a brown eyed girl

It’s so cold that the snow won’t melt. It lies like white ribbons of piped icing across the rooftops. Yesterday, I stood outside in the cold, staring at snow ribbons, waiting for the kids to come home on the bus. I waited, and waited, possibly said a bad word, and waited some more. They finally pulled up some twenty minutes later. I pasted a smile on my face so as not to look annoyed at the bus driver. Rumor has it that they were late a few days ago because one kid, a girl with an easy smile and my big brown eyes, was screaming too loud. That day the driver stopped right smack in the middle of the road until there was quiet, probably thinking that someone should talk to that kid’s mother. It’s at times like these that I am thankful for the language barrier.

Anyhow, the kids weren’t off the bus thirty seconds before I got the full story of this afternoon’s adventure. Apparently, the door to the bus is broken (think less bus and more large van with a sliding door). The driver was ascending a hill when the door spontaneously flung itself open and then slammed shut, repeatedly. If the driver doesn’t want screaming kids on board, then perhaps she should reconsider a van whose gaping wide door might give a six year old a near death experience. She pulled over and attempted to shut it, and that dang door would not shut. Hence, the twenty minutes I spent rooftop gazing.

I haven’t laughed that hard in months. I had to stop to catch my breath on the walk up the hill to our house. I laughed, they laughed, and we walked bent over at the belly from the sheer joy of it. There’s nothing like laughter to knit the things that have fallen apart back together again. Now, if only someone could work that kind of magic on the bus.