My daughter Has a zero period.

At 6:35, when we pull out of the driveway,

it seems like the rest of the world is still sleeping, 

but so much happens as we wind through Palos Verdes roads

in the mild and temperate of California November.

I know this because I pay attention and keep a list in my journal:

1. Cooler temps bring less boobs and butt sightings as girls bounce out of their parent's cars in the drop-off line.  For this Church Lady, baggy sweatshirts are salvation.

2. We see a man walking every morning.  We've named him Walking Man. (It's early. The creative juices aren't flowing to come up with a better name.) He walks with a spring in his step, but never smiles.  We drive past him and say, "Good for him."

3. Often, we have to stop for peacock families crossing the road.  Palos Verdes Problems.

4.  There are way too many expensive, high performance cars in the high school parking lot.  What happened to teenagers driving Mom's old Buick? 

5. When I haven't slept very well, I talk nonstop during our commute. It's like I'm a baby who missed her nap and is spinning out of control tired.

6. During one ten minute commute, it's possible to see a moon, sun, mountain, island, and ocean. It's also possible to see a mama who looks like she just rolled out of bed, or a mama who is ready for her close-up. I love LA.

7. One time, I saw an elderly man drive into the bushes.  He backed out, waved, and went on his way.

8.  At a corner house with a stop sign in front, there is often a man waving at everyone who passes.  I wonder, "Is he a little off?"  My daughter says, "Maybe he's just friendly." Didn't think of that option.

9. Did I miss the memo that stopping is optional at STOP signs before 7 AM?

10. A lot of parents carry their strong and able kids' backpacks on the way to school.  I love seeing adults with tiny Barbie backpacks slung over their shoulders.  

When I pull back into the driveway at 7 AM,

I'm proud of all the noticing I've accomplished. 

I celebrate by reheating the cup of coffee I left sitting,

lonely and cold,

on the kitchen counter.

Always writing,

Lorrie