8:03 AM, the big orange school bus rumbles by. Just tall enough to see out our living room window, my oldest talks about when he will ride that bus to school. My youngest is an infant.
8:03 AM, the big orange bus stops routinely now, picking up both my children for school. While we wait, we play basketball, ride scooters or throw baseballs, sometimes snowballs in the winter.
A decade later, the big orange school bus trundles by. The bus driver who piloted bus #1 for years, who knew and protected my children, retired last year. My children still ride a bus, it stops earlier, for older students. The new driver on this route has no memory of the stop in my driveway, or of those who rode into the world from here. My oldest now stands taller than me.
Working at home does not make me wealthy, but in every minute I spent helping my children on the bus and off, I became quite rich. I am grateful. Each school day morning, the rumble of the big orange school bus reminds me. 8:03.
Shouldn't...but Do 
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