North to drop off, South to pick up


My friend Amy, who lives in Texas, USA, has agreed to be one of the regular writers for this blog.  She’s a wife, mom of two boys, and works full time.


There are very few rules to navigating the carpool line at the elementary school, so you’d expect that people would be able to follow them, right?  Not so much.  

For starters why would anyone in their right mind get in line at 2:00pm and wait – with engine running – until the 3:00 o’clock bell?  As if the fumes spewing from their gargantuan Texas-sized SUVs aren’t enough already, it’s just not eco-friendly, or smart for that matter.

And what about the numbers?  We all learned to count from 1 to 10, so why is it so difficult to go to the station number that you’re assigned?  Stay in line and drive forward – don’t stop to wave at a friend or beckon your child over to the nearest open space on the curb hoping to shave an extra 20 seconds off your journey.  Just go to your number and stop holding up the line.

Ever get cut off in a carpool line?  There’s nothing more rude than that!  OK, so you’re having a rough morning, dog barfed, clothes aren’t ironed, got out the door late, kids are eating cold toast in the car…we’ve all been there more than we care to say.  But please don’t think that gives you the right to cut off all the other cars that are just pulling up in front of the school with mere seconds to spare before the bell rings – give me a break, we all had the same kind of morning you did!

Oh and don’t get me started about talking and texting – I could go on for days.  OMG!  I don’t think it would hurt that much to detach the device from your ear (or your thumbs) – do you really need to talk with your BFF while you’re in line?  There is nothing worse than getting behind “Chatty Cathy” when she doesn’t realize that the line moved up and she’s still sitting there – oblivious to what’s going on around her.

I’m all about teaching my kids basic manners, following the rules, and being polite, so when I see things like this it drives me nuts.    I know I shouldn’t sweat the small stuff, but really, how hard is it?  As my kids sometimes say, I’d like to “go all fireball” on them, but that would be very polite now would it?  So for now, I’ll just sit in the car with my dog, crank up the tunes, and patiently wait our turn in line…


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