This is a fortnightly newsletter from Galah's editor Annabelle Hickson, made for our Galah subscribers. You are our most valuable supporters. You keep the lights on and the engine room running. Thank you.
My niece B, who lives in the top house (I live in the bottom house), has turned three. This means she is now old enough to go to the closest preschool which is 60km away. To get to this preschool, she catches the school bus with her brother, my daughter Harriet and the other children the bus driver Rob picks up along the way to town.
There was some hesitation about accepting a three-year-old as a regular passenger on the bus, which is technically for school-aged children. Harriet diplomatically suggested a “trial period” and then my sister offered to buy a car seat for the bus, primarily as a device to restrain B, with any safety features or fulfilled legal requirements being an added bonus. This was enough to get Rob across the line. And so now B with her big bag and tiny legs commutes to school two days a week. She hasn’t looked back. My sister and I don’t know what happens on the bus, vis à vis B and her mood swings, but Rob has not complained. Well, not to us anyway.
