A Nightmare for the Easily Overstimulated

Every Friday I pick up my nephew from Kindergarten so we can spend the afternoon with him. My nephew goes to a private school in the city, a very expensive private school with NO PARKING. I don't mean no parking like when my hubby says "there's no food in the fridge," I mean everyone parks on side streets. It's ridiculous on the best day. I park three to four blocks away, put the baby in the stroller, the other two holding on while we navigate a cracked and uneven sidewalk that is about 36 inches away from rushing traffic. The ridiculous turns into a nightmare when the weather is even the slightest inclimate. Today it was pouring down rain.

The trek to the school was trying:

"Mommy, why don't WE have an umbrella?"

"Because I only have two hands, and I have to push the stroller."

And then there's the dawdling. At what age to children actually understand the word "hurry?" And at what age do they understand that the more slowly they walk, the longer they will be in the pouring rain, and the wetter they will get?

Anyway, we get to the school, and, as usual, panic rises in my chest. It is a complete melee of children and adults and backpacks and strollers. I am able to spot my nephew in the crowd of kids in white shirts and navy blue pants, but I've got to get checked to make sure I'm on the list, which I am, and sign him out. Then I ask, "Xander, where is your coat and backpack?"

"Over there," he responds, pointing to a round table with no less than 50 coats and backpacks. I don't even know what his coat and backpack look like, and I have left my kids unsupervised in the hallway for many minutes. Just as I am allowing myself to fully experience physiological effects of overstimulation on my body, which comprise of complete inability to move and speak, I hear Xander call out "Here they are."

So now back out into the rain with four children this time. I have instructed the 3-year-old to hold on to the stroller, and the five-year-old and six-year-old to hold hands and walk in front of me. Again we navigate the treacherous sidewalk, again we have the dawdling (why am I the ownly grownup who has to keep yelling "Walk quickly?"), and by now the baby's legs are drenched (because he is in the seated position in the stroller) and the rain has soaked through my jacket at my shoulders. We are just about to the side street on which we are parked when a bus comes by, running through a puddle in the street, and in perfect Laurel and Hardy fashion, sends a spray of water all over us.