Every morning we march up a 17{437770ce010a00ceb26be852c4212b2ca6fa5f61063b9b492ddb7d9a7a149726} grade incline to reach a bus stop that is a quarter mile away. A quarter mile, you say? That’s not so bad. Well, It’s not bad until you factor in a 7 year-old carrying a heavy backpack, one squirrel-chasing freight-train on a leash (also known as a dog), and a four-year-old who’s prone to falling at EXACTLY the halfway point, meaning there is no way we can make it back to the house, get a band-aide, and run back up the quarter-mile hill in time to catch the bus.

What does this mean, exactly? Well, it means I usually end up walking with a wailing, hysterical, overly-dramatic child with freely flowing blood the rest of the way to the bus stop, no doubt impressing all the neighbors with my mothering skills when we finally arrive, tear-and-blood-streaked, just in time to catch the bus. Thankfully the tear-and-blood streaked child is NOT the one getting on the bus, or I imagine I’d receive a daily phone call from the school nurse and/or principal as soon as he arrived.

He’s got one more year before he needs to learn to make the whole journey without blood being involved. If not, I think I’m going to make him a bubble wrap suit. I may get strange looks from the other parents, but at least my kid will be tear-and-blood free and that, my faithful readers, will indeed be a victory.