i've been hit by the Good Bus Motherhood. chugging along, it drags me from place to place — smashing my head off rocks, smearing me through puddles. tattered and torn and swathed in exhaust fumes, i cling white-knuckled; knowing neither when the next bend will come, nor how it will hit me. i see other adults in this same predicament: sane, successful, good-willed people. we nod sympathetically and call out words of cheer from under our buses. we will never let go.