The Pickup

We live on a street that dead-ends into a lake. The closest town to us – about a 15-minute drive away – is a small place of about 6,000 people. I have lived on this street for 10 years in May. Despite the length of time we have lived here, we do not know a lot of people, although I do recognize people I have met at the grocery store or the library, for example.

Yesterday, the Focus needed some work so after picking up my son at daycare, we drove to the garage, located about five minutes outside of town. My son and I decided we wanted to go to the library to ‘pick books.’

My guy almost made it until the end of the garage’s driveway when he said ‘Mommy carry E’ so I did.

It was cold yesterday, below seasonal. My guy, who doesn’t like mittens, tucked his hands into my shirt and put his head on my shoulder. And we walked, mommy carrying the almost 30-pound babe, a purse and the diaper bag.

We got almost to town, when a wonderful woman, driving a recognizable reading program van, pulled over and asked if we wanted a ride.

I was grateful but taken back and unsure what to do. Part of me thought a ride would be lovely. The other part questioned if I was crazy excepting a stranger’s ride.

The part of me who apparently is more trusting then I thought said yes and I began to put my guy in the car seat. My guy decided he didn’t want to go in and hung on tight. The smart me took the escape. I said thank you so much but would just walk.

A hour later, we made it to the library and my son picked books, played with the computers and rearranged the chairs.

We also met up with the lady who I again thanked.

I do thank this kind woman who saw someone in need and offered her a ride. But I must remember to always listen to that inner voice when it says ‘Don’t accept rides from strangers’ particularly when it will soon be time to teach my son the same lesson.