Time for School

The summer is ending. The next few weeks will be spent buying backpacks, lunch boxes, new underwear, and socks, a bazillion pencils, erasers, and renegotiating a proper bedtime. A fresh start to the new school year, where Christian begins ninth grade and Noah is now a Junior High School student in the sixth grade.

I knew they are ready. The monotony of having spent too much time together was leading to disagreements and sighs powerful enough to blow the neglected dust off the furniture.

I was ready too. I looked forward to having time for myself to catch up on what housework was abandoned over the summer for the sake of fun day trips, sleepovers, and pool parties.

Every year when ‘back to school’ time sneaks up on stealthy feet, I think back to when my boys were younger and to previous mornings getting them off to their first day back. I could sense their excitement, though it was mixed with some apprehension. I packed lunches and included a note for each to read. While I loaded the backpacks, I started thinking about my freedom.

I could make my bed once, as it would not be a trampoline today. No more catering to the whims of the starving and dehydrated. I would watch Dr. Phil instead of SpongeBob. I would write until my fingers swelled, without interruption.

 I hung the referee whistle and the boxing gloves with a smile; there would be no fights today. The choices seemed infinite as I raised my fists in the air and let out a victorious whoop. All my hooting and hollering drew the attention of my neighbor who gave me a knowing smile of understanding.

I shuffled the boys out the door 20 minutes before the bus was due to come, after hugs, kisses, and reassurance that I would be fine by myself. I tried to hide my grin and squinted to reduce the gleam, which beamed from my eyes.

As the school bus turned around in the cul de sac and passed by the house again, I stood in the window smiling and cheerfully waved. Noah’s head rested on the window and his little hand came up to touch the glass. While his fingers curled in a small gesture of a wave goodbye, a tear slid down my cheek and splashed into my cold cup of coffee.