the drop off sisterhood

Every {school day} morning I buckle everyone into the car and we drive my girl to school.

In the beginning of the year, this was an anonymous task. I could use a baby wipe to remove the previous day's mascara from under my eyes, and throw on a baseball cap to cover my bed head. My husband's old college sweatshirt was a good cover to throw over my jammies.

I wasn't the only one. There are at least a dozen regular dropper-offers that drop off their kids at the same time and the same spot as I do. And we've entered a strange relational stage. There's an unspoken camaraderie. We wave at each other. We smile to each other. When one of us has to get out of the vehicle and have a stern talk with our child, the others give a knowing and sympathetic glance. We know who parks where, and who will be running just a few moments behind (ponytail mom w/naughty boy). We know which child doesn't always want to separate from their mama (golden van). We know who is going to bust into the line with snotty gusto and take off in the same fashion (Lincoln SUV). (I don't like you, Lincoln SUV.)

Now that we "know" each other, the sweatpants have been replaced by yoga pants. Ponytails take the place of baseball caps. Some of us even get dressed in REGULAR CLOTHES. And sometimes, we put in our contacts instead of our 15 year old glasses. We don't look like a bunch of ragamuffins. We look casual and comfortable, with a hint of put-together-I-promise-I'm-not-a-slob-in-real-life-ness.

Next year, I'm going to start the year with yoga pants and a pony tail.