Pick up time.
If I am not there wihtin ten minutes of the bell ringing, I get a phone call, politely inquiring when I might be gracing them with my presence. Day in and day out, my children go in that building, I occasionally follow or am ushered in for a special event or because I forgot to pack their lunches.
There will be a day, one that is rapidly approaching, when they won't be there. They will have finished all the lessons required of them and they will transition to another school. If I show up within ten minutes of the bell ringing, it will be politely tolerated and then, if I persist, eyebrows will be raised.
I walk past the wooden gates of the daycare where my son went the year before school. I walk along the street towards the building on my way home. The late spring warmth permeates everything. The children's voices and laughter escapes through the fence.
I walk on.