It’s no surprise that with four kids in four schools, the first day of school was neither a singular event nor did it occur on just one day. Turned out, the first day was broken into three first first days.
If this blog’s software let get many photos onto a single post, I’d do a tiny photo essay. I can’t, though. I’ll sum it up in words. After the first of the kids’ first days—Lucien started his new school last week—the next first day marked belonged to our eldest and our youngest. Think, high school and toddler room. Imagine remembering that increasingly gravelly-voiced young man chirping through his toddler years at a nearby program, charming teachers with his precocious language (that part probably remains somewhat unchanged, come to think of it) and seeming so grown up.
His smallest sister’s pretty chirpy herself. She sang a song in the stroller nearly the entire way there, and as an elder in the youngest group this year (she was the youngest in the entire school last year), she exuded confidence as she bounded in, washed her hands, and pretty much just commenced with playing (the work of toddlers and preschoolers).
While I could snap a few photos of Saskia that day, her brother wouldn’t allow me to accompany him to the porch where he waited for his friends for the inaugural walk to high school. I stole a photo through the dining room window. I snapped the second grader settling into his classroom on his first day (our collective last first day).
I sent the high school and the preschool photos together in an email, the gist of which went: Not so long ago the biggest was smallest. I sent the seventh grader and second grader’s photos, the next day, announcing that we are officially “in” our academic year 2010/11, after a week’s start. Phew.
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The long beginning overshadowed attempts to get as many last licks of summer in as I might have liked. I meant to revisit to my little wish list and see about checking a few final items off.
As I look back over it, at first I’m struck by all I didn’t do—the blueberries shriveled up this year in July’s oppressive heat and I didn’t pick peaches, although there are always apples… and I haven’t seen a movie in a theater, made a photo book or ridden my bike to the Florence Farmers’ Market—but I see that I did some things, too. I’ve made progress in the whole purge clutter process and seen plays and the Lisbeth Zwerger show and we’ve grilled…I got away for two whole days (and nights)! I put my feet in the ocean (a bonus treat, and walked along the beach). Although it wasn’t exactly an official date, I did get to take my husband to work last week (we drove to Middlefield and we stopped for a fast bite on the way home, so the outing semi-counts).
Like the rest of life raising four kids, things are often equal amounts chaos and good intention, plus more chaos than anticipated, plus too little sleep. A raggedy feeling prevails. That should come as no surprise: four kids, two parents working. Raggedy is the new put together.
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Although I documented these moments in time—the reason one obtains a digital camera in the first place—I felt much less emotional about these beginnings than I’d anticipated. I mean, high school for goodness sake. That’s like four years till college. That’s like, whoa baby.
Somehow, though, this first didn’t feel so gigantic. I think it’s because he—my ninth grader, the high school student—is just so very ready. It helps that he’s a big ol’ learner, a person for whom school is a comfort zone and for whom getting settled in a new school involves a visit to the library to scope out the offerings. He’s happy about the snake in biology class and theater tech on the horizon. He is happy to be in algebra rather than geometry. He is happy.
Oh, and he can walk to school.
And while my little is less little, now, she’s so ready to be not the very youngest and so completely comfortable in her surroundings (a place I totally adore) that it’s hard to get choked up about her growing. It’s easy to cheer her on (“Sisterhood is Powerful!”).
All this change takes place the same moment as Rosh Hashanah encourages reflection. We are to savor life’s sweetness (apples and honey). I guess, in a nutshell, as hard as all the transition has felt, when I take a breath—even one that contains some lingering worry, sure—I feel awash in gratefulness. Like the weather this week—from hot days and the loudest thunder I’ve practically ever heard, cool breezes, puffy clouds, ashy nights—there’s so very much—so varied and textured and intricate and straightforward—to note and to cherish. So, I’m letting myself be awed.
