Of course, I said yes when my closest friend asked me to watch her two-year-old.

Then she added: “Would you be comfortable getting Tommy off the bus?” 

“Sure, no problem, just tell me what time.” 

I had been there before when the kindergarten minibus dropped him off.

When I arrived, the mom handed me a note listing the school’s phone number, the number at the bus garage, details about when to open the front door, and the nine-minute range during which the bus was scheduled to arrive. Seemed like overkill, but ‘Organized’ is her middle name.

I ushered mommy out the door and set the oven timer for a few minutes ahead. Angela and I played with her doll house, then colored for a while. At the buzzer, I got my shoes on, helped the little one with hers, and opened the front door. Conscientious mama had placed a golf umbrella there for me. With the rain coming faster, I instructed Angela to watch from the porch. She was not thrilled but stayed put. Their Golden Lab got all excited to lead the way down the steps to the driveway. Big brother’s arrival was imminent.

To my left, I spotted a minibus crossing at the top of the street. Hmm, must be a different bus. Tommy’s should come up the hill from my right. My watch is set two minutes fast so I allowed for that, plus the heavy rain could slow things down. Five minutes later I ran out of rationale. For the first minute, I was in denial that something could be wrong. Then I was beating myself up for leaving my cell phone and the note with the essential phone numbers inside the house. If I ran back to get them, I chanced missing the drop-off. When the parent, or designated responsible adult, is not there waiting, the bus driver is required to drive the child back to the school!

I had to take the risk—I sprinted across the wet concrete, opened the door, and scooping the toddler inside, grabbed the note and dashed back out. Seeing no bus, I held the door open and said, “Angela, can you please get Miss Lilly’s phone out of her purse?”  Her eyes lit up! Purses and iPhones were normally off-limits. She performed her assignment flawlessly. I dialed the bus garage and explained. The dispatcher reviewed my name, which elementary building, the child’s name, and bus number. She asked me to hold while she contacted the driver on the two-way radio. I waited for a long two minutes. Upon returning, she told me there was a problem on the minibus and the driver would have him home in seven minutes. She skipped the nature of the holdup—was it a mechanical problem or an ill child or what? No matter—finally a bit of hopeful news: Tommy was on that bus and headed home.

The dog whined and paced in the driveway. Little sister, still on the porch after twenty chilly minutes, announced: ‘Bubby is GONE!’ 

My cell phone rang; it was Supermom!

“Hi, Lilly, do you have Tommy yet?” (Later she would reveal that she felt a sudden sharp pain in her belly that compelled her to check at that moment!) 

“Well,” I said, trying to sound in control, “I just spoke with Marie at the bus garage, and she said there was a little problem on the bus, and that Tommy will be home in six minutes.” I figured ‘little problem’ sounded better than plain ‘problem’ and ‘six’ minutes sounded better than ‘seven’! I had no other assuring words to offer.

Just then I saw it:  Beautiful Minibus #5 crawling up the hill towards us!

“Oh, there it is, Amy, (no longer trying to sound cool) he’s coming! Just wait and you can talk to him yourself!” 

Flashers came on, the crossing arm dropped, and the yellow door opened.

As Tommy hurried toward me, I said, “Here, Honey, talk to Mommy!” 

The driver, waving a piece of paper, gestured for me to come to her window.

“Look at this note I got!” It contained today’s date, my name, Tommy’s name, and the bus number.

“What is the problem with it?” I asked, still shaken.

“Well, there’s a little girl on this bus named Lily and I thought I was supposed to drop him off to play at her house!”

Seriously? What are the chances?

Relieved to get both my charges and the dog safely back inside, I locked the front door. The kids played while I fixed lunch and afterwards, I gingerly asked Tommy about the mix-up.

 “I told her she skipped my stop, but she said ‘Well, today I have a note that says you are to get off at Lilly Kauffman’s.’ I knew that was your real name, Miss Lilly. Then she took me to this girl’s house, and she said: ‘O.K., Tommy, this is where you get off with Lilly Kauffman.’ I don’t even know that girl! Then the little girl said, ‘My name’s not Lilly Kauffman.’ And I told the bus driver, NO, NO, (reaching to arch his arms overhead) it’s a BIGGER Lilly!”

I hugged him close and thought, Oh, Thank Heaven for this smart little boy!

Lilly Kauffman is a non-fiction writer who was privileged to work as both librarian and a teacher. Her essays, whether serious or humorous, capture the experiences that allow us to laugh and grieve. Family and faith inform her writings. She is currently working on several book projects: A Mother Grieves in Ink, Ampersand, and Lil Letters.