Waiting

I set the DVR the other night to record Oprah's two-part interview with Lance Armstrong. Technology is not my strong-suit, to put it mildly, so in the process I ended up taping all of Oprah's other interviews (and upcoming ones, too, I'm sure. Stay tuned.).

So last night I sat down to watch Oprah talk with funny, down-to-earth, totally refreshing Drew Barrymore. Who knew? That's not entirely true: I knew a little bit. I knew she was wonderful in "ET." I knew, very generally, that she had a difficult childhood and was in rehab by the time she was 14. I knew she ended up being a successful actress who seemed a little quirky and definitely likable. And I knew she is now the mother of a sweet baby girl named Olive.

Oprah asked Drew, because of her experience growing up with parents who did very little parenting, what she would do differently with Olive. And she said: "I will be there at 3:00 in the school line waiting to pick her up."

I watched the Lance Armstrong interview, by the way. I listened to him apologize for doping, for lying for years about his doping, and for being a bully. But nothing in that interview moved me the way Drew's statement did. That she would be waiting for Olive. That she would pick her up at 3:00. Because she never had anyone waiting for her, and every child should.

There was the usual mix of grownups on our school playground this afternoon, everyone trying to stay warm. There were nannies, grandparents, fathers, older sisters who had walked over from the Middle School, and mothers. All waiting for 3:00.