Gotta get that Paper

Every morning starts the same way…

Two tiny humans in the backseat hit me with their usual demand- "Where are we going today?" I list off the daily errands. Grocery store, car wash, maybe Starbucks if the caffeine gods smile on us. But if I don’t mention the one true destination, I get toddler betrayal in its purest form.

Then it happens: Bubs (almost 2) lets out a full-blown, wild-eyed, guttural growl: "BAAAANK!!!" Yup. The bank. Not a playground. Not a toy store. The actual, factual drive-thru bank. Just a car, a screen, a plastic tube, and two kids who act like it’s the main event at Disney on Ice.

Could I deposit my check online like a functional adult? Sure. But apparently, I’m an 87-year-old woman at heart who insists on handling her financial business in person-from the driver’s seat, with ducks on the dash and toddlers scream laughing behind me.

I’m their Auntie, which means I am both the ringleader and the designated driver to all things extra. We roll up every Friday. The tellers smile and greet me by name. I smile back, still not knowing any of theirs. (Not cool, Auntie Kate. Not cool) But that five-minute stop? That’s our ritual. That’s their joy. That’s the weird, ridiculous, unexpectedly sweet core memory we’re building.

Funny how joy can sound like a scream and travel through a tube.