Longing for the Yellow Bus

This happens to me every summer, just as July moves into August. A longing comes over me. Sometimes it feels like falling in love. I see the yellow buses move through the neighborhood and I feel giddy and warm inside. No, school hasn't resumed yet; these little trips by the buses are only precursory ones to the garage for maintenance checks or perhaps a dry run before school starts. But he promise is there, and it is all I need. Don't get me wrong, I love my sons. Absolutely adore them. Even on days when they test my patience (which is limited) and my wits (which are even more limited), they are the best thing that have happened to me. And yet, I relish my quiet time. Children are notoriously noisy. When the boys were younger, there were sounds of Thomas the Train and that ridiculous yellow sponge-child hybrid noted for his square pants and ability to make crabby patties. Now, there are arguments over who forgot to flush the toilet; sounds of my youngest son strumming away on his electric guitar (he has just informed me that he wants a drum set for Christmas--tell me it ain't so.); my oldest son's cell phone constantly ringing (the telephone rings so many times in my house that my African Gray parrot now mimics the sound. You don't want to know how many times I've almost picked up the bird and said hello). During summer months, the noise level peaks. It is like hurricane season--every year you know it is coming, but other than buy a few bottles of water and some tuna, what can you really do about it? You wait it out, that's what you do. That's what I'm doing now, stealing moments to write when I find them, and waiting for the yellow bus to return like a beacon on the asphalt sea to show me the way back to the empty pages, the cups of Starbucks, and the hours of quiet solitude where there is nothing except that ringing bird (and her cohorts) to interrupt my train of thought.