One Block = Chaos.

The kids – and me! – walk to school most days. It’s about 1.2km each way and we’ve now done that walk about 50 times since the boys moved in here.

Recently, Oldest One asked when I’d let them walk to school alone. Some of the older kids in the school walk by themselves – or in small groups – so it’s not an unreasonable question for him to ask.

As well, the school required a signed form (from Coffee and I) that allows the boys to walk home alone in the event of an emergency school closure. The school wouldn’t call home to alert us, so the boys would need to know how to make it back by themselves.

Yesterday I told the boys that I’d meet them one block away from school when the bell rang. Oldest One had decided that it would make sense for me to gradually meet them further and further from the school in order to help them learn the way home.

So, yesterday, they had to cross the street (with the crossing patrol guard) and then walk to the end of the block. I was within sight of the school.

They agreed – and said they’d stick together “just in case”.

Instead of cross the street and walking down the block, however, they crossed the street and kept walking straight. In a direction we had never, ever walked before.

And they got lost.

Meanwhile, I was standing at the meeting place with Little One, kicking snow and wondering what the hell was taking the older two so long to walk the one block.

Soon, the stream of kids exiting the school trickled down to almost nothing. And the panic hit me.

I ran (with Little One staggering behind me) and saw that the school was almost deserted. And there was no sign of the kids.

I retraced my steps to the end of the block. No sign of them.

Then I freaked right the hell out and, gripping Little One’s hand as tightly as possible, I started running toward home so I could get the car and start looking for the older boys.

Little One’s legs are short. There is no way I could get him to move fast enough on foot to find the boys.

But oh, he bitched the entire way about how he didn’t CARE if his brothers were lost and he didn’t CARE if they never came home and he didn’t LIKE that we were running and about how his legs HURT and he was mad.

I didn’t hear much of it because I was busy trying to figure out where the hell the older kids were and how they managed to miss the meeting space ONE BLOCK FROM SCHOOL.

When we came tearing down the hill near home, I saw them. Two boys, sobbing hysterically, waiting on the front porch of the house.

They were terrified. Totally, completely, and utterly terrified.

And I wasn’t in much better shape.

Little One was just perplexed.

We came inside and I hugged the boys much tighter than required as they cried and cried and cried.

And when they calmed down a bit, they ate cookies and drank pop and told me how they got from school to home (in a totally insane path that didn’t go anywhere NEAR the meeting spot).

I spent the rest of the evening feeling complete and utter guilt. How could I have let them get lost?

Good god. I am SO not cut out for the stress of this parenting thing.

And apparently I’m going to be the “clingy” parent now – the whole, “You don’t get to go ANYWHERE without me until you’re 45 years old” thing seems strangely appealing.