Slice of Life 2026: 4 of 31- A Nostalgic Moment

 In March, Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life Story Challenge. Everyone is welcome to share writing and comment on others in this special community. 

I was already percolating a post about last night's shuttle ride when I read Jess Carey's post about ambushed moments, and then I knew I should write about the ride. 

When we got to the designated shuttle pick-up place, so did many other people. When the first shuttle pulled in, there was predictable jockeying and maneuvering to try and get on. (Perhaps more defendable than usual since it was late and many of us were coming in from warm places and Connecticut was... cold!) Garth and I opted out of the elbowing and waited for the next one. And then the next one. 

As I pointed out to him, "There's no rush. Clare's getting the car." 

The stakes were lower for us when it came to getting the car because our adult daughter had landed serendipitously fifteen minutes ahead of us, gotten her bag, and was on her way to claim the car with a photograph of the ticket I'd sent her way. (You may very well read about this moment in time on Clare's blog.)

Garth and I lucked out when the third shuttle pulled up right in front of us, and we were able to get seats while others continued the who's-getting-on game in the line. A family caught my eye and my concern. It was eleven, so late for me, and really late for the two little girls in matching pajama pants and messy ponytails. 

Please let them get on this shuttle, I said out loud. 

If they don't get on, I'm getting off, I didn't say out loud. I wasn't sure how I'd be able to make that happen or if it would be worth it since there were four of them and only two of us. (I'd have made Garth get off, too.)

Luckily, they were the last people on, With only two available seats, the dad wrapped one arm around each girl, and scooped them into his lap, one of each knee. Since they were directly across from me, I could watch them lean into him, lean on each other, and squeeze their plush stuffed animals. 

"Good kids," I said, and Mom smiled. 

I almost said, but didn't have to, to cherish those moments, those feet that didn't quite touch the shuttle floor, those toothless smiles. And I also thought, how lucky am I? My daughter flew in just ahead of us and is claiming the car and driving home with us, and she would probably remember moments like those. Just with a couple of extra daughters. 

In Jess's post, she shares Tracey's comment that every age gets better and better, and, mostly, it has. Every now and then, though, like Jess, a nostalgic moment sneaks in. Matching pajamas, toothless smiles, and sleep-mussed ponytails can do that for me.