My son Jamie started kindergarten this year. Carpool pickup is at 3:15pm, same spot every day, right by the flagpole.
On Thursday, I pulled up early. Saw Jamie already standing there with a woman. Blonde hair, skinny jeans, looked like any other mom.
I honked. Jamie waved, started walking toward her car instead of mine.
I got out. “Jamie! Over here, buddy!”
He looked confused. The blonde woman put her hand on his shoulder.
I walked over. “Excuse me, that’s my son.”
She smiled. “No, that’s my son, Jamie.”
We both looked down at Jamie. He was looking between us, terrified.
“Jamie, who’s your mom?” I asked.
He started crying.
A teacher came over. “Is everything okay?”
“This woman is trying to take my son,” I said.
The teacher looked at her clipboard. “Mrs. Anderson, you’re here for Jamie Anderson, correct?”
“Yes,” the blonde woman said.
“And you are?” the teacher asked me.
“Sarah Anderson. That’s MY son, Jamie Anderson.”
The teacher’s face went white. She pulled out her phone, made a call.
Turns out, there were two Jamie Andersons in kindergarten. Two boys, same first and last name, same age, same classroom.
And we looked identical. Me and the other mom. Same height, same hair color, same style.
The principal made us both show IDs. Different addresses, different husbands, different birth certificates for our sons.
But when they put our photos side by side, even the principal got quiet.
We’re not related. We checked.