Yesterday afternoon, I was wiping down the drivers area of my bus as my elementary kids were starting to board. One of my second grade boys was watching what I was doing, then asked, “What are you doing, Mrs. Mileti?”
I must say sometimes it takes serious effort not to resort to my typical cheeky nature, when one of my kids asks me a very obvious question. I did, however, refrain from retorting with the flippant remark that was aching to be set free and instead responded with the nicer, more appropriate response. “I’m cleaning the bus.”
“Why are you cleaning the bus?” was his next question.
“Because it’s dirty and I don’t like when the bus is dirty.” I told him in reply.
“Did you clean the windows?” He asked. While he was asking the question, he took his hand and swiped the window, then looked at his hand. It was as if he was donning a white glove and was giving me the white glove test, only with his bare hand.
“No, I did not clean the windows, yet.” I told him.
“I didn’t think so.” He responded.
Once again, I found myself holding back. What I wanted to say was—What was your first clue? The remnants of tic-tac-toe boards, stick figures, and smiley faces drawn upon the fog covered windows from earlier today, or maybe it was the hand swipe marks from erasing the drawings, or could it be the nose prints and—gasp—window licking marks?
Thankfully, it was time to leave, so the only response he got from me was a nonverbal eye-roll, that he could not see. I wonder if I leave the windex wipes in his seat if he’ll offer to clean the windows for me? I am pretty sure I already know how he would respond. It would likely be a carbon copy of my response to him, only he wouldn’t spare me the visual.