The novelty of walking to work has worn off, but the trek would be made more bearable if the neighborhood would just come to life already. Spring has nearly sprung, but not quite. The trees are still bare and the grass mostly brown. But the snow has melted, mostly, and temperatures are on the rise. Optimistic neighbors have busted out their bbq grills. And the area children, after being cooped up all winter, are obviously overjoyed to be playing outside. Normally this sort of thing causes me to smile on the way home, but not tonight. Just as I was heading out of the office the husband broke the bad news, that the little man’s bus hadn’t turned up…making it twenty or more minutes late. I can be calm in a crisis, but this is my baby we’re talking about (I realize some day I’ll have to deal with not knowing where he is every minute of the day, unless I get him that LoJack implant, but I’m not ready for either yet). I was able to tell the husband where to locate the school’s phone number before my mind started racing…through dozens of worst case scenarios, culled from made for TV movies, overhyped headlines, and my overactive imagination. Heading home I hauled ass, nearly deaf to the constant roar of non-bus vehicular traffic and the pounding of my heart…but also to the twee chirping of my teeny cell phone, which was buried at the bottom of my bag. It wasn’t until I was just blocks from home that I realized the husband had called, oh, a dozen times or so, to let me know that all was well. He’d been slightly more successful reaching the school. After several attempts someone answered and informed him that the little man’s regular bus had broken down (it’s not clear if it was before or after the children had boarded) so the kids had to wait for a replacement bus. Apparently a representative of the school was supposed to have called to let us know this…so that we wouldn’t panic, as I so clearly did.