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3 | Drop-Off KAITLIN

There’s a nerdy mom with one kid. She’s always late.

There’s a mustached dad with three. He’s always shouting.

There’s a skinny mom who always feeds her kids doughnuts as they walk. They run into school, high as kites, faces smeared with frosting and glaze.

I see them all.

I once had drop-off by the balls: I was never late. I never shouted. I made free-range eggs and organic oatmeal for breakfast. And everyone left with their faces clean.

In those days, I lingered outside the gates after the children hustled inside. Chatted with other parents about TV shows we liked and Common Core math homework we hated. Took morning walks in the park with mom friends.

Now, instead, I linger in bed until the last possible second, scrolling through ads for workout gear I am told I’m deficient without. I look at pictures of other streets, in other cities. Of other parks and other families. Of hipster dessert spots and canyon hikes. Of younger people who stay out late and never venture into the light at all.

There’s a sparkly mom who I actually knew growing up. But she always looks right through me.

At drop-off and at pick-up too. I see that mom who I once knew.