The bus leaves, wisps of steam in its wake. I stand by the curb, baby on my hip, one arm raised in a wave. I follow the bus as it completes a circle around the center grassy area before it passes me again on its way out. Your pony tails are silhouetted against the window. I wave my arm in your general direction and walk back inside.
Each morning in the morning rush as you get ready to leave, my eyes are tracking you. As you slip on your boots and stride with all the confidence of your five-year old selves towards the world I am not part of, a piece of me goes with you. As I go through my day, a part of me wonders if you are sitting in class rapt in attention or fidgeting in place. I wonder if the teachers see in you all those things that make you, the unique you. I wonder if you are being friendly and making friends. I wonder if you sit together at lunch or are part of your own circles.
As the day winds down, I glance at the window overlooking the road once too often. The yellow of your bus sends a jolt of happiness through me. I watch you step down, hop, skip and jump home, your backpacks bobbing behind you.
You see, I have eyes only for you.