This week, my second guy—first of the four sibs—returns to school. It’s a new school for him, Hilltown Cooperative Charter Public School. At the nearly last gasp, his terrible numbers in two charter school lotteries came up (into August) and a visit to Hilltown sealed the deal. Taking myself (or rather, my guilt about the economics of charter schools for the community) out of it, I can see why the school so appealed to Lucien (and us, too). Even empty, the place exudes warmth and welcome. Its cozy spirit suits our guy like a worn T-shirt does, soft, comfortable, casual, and easy.
He’s a 12 year-old rather than an aspiring teenager, if that makes sense, not racing toward social adventures or misadventures, the intrigue of crushes and more; he’s much more interested in cooking thank you very much, and politics (including locally, he’s been volunteering for Dave Sullivan’s DA campaign). He is the completely adored brother of his baby sister, having worked up songs and secret handshakes and other young kids revere him, too. At his elementary school, he loved all the orchestrated interactions with younger kids: assisting kindergarteners to their parents or being the elder of the reading buddy pair. The K-8 model makes sense to me for many kids; for Lucien, it’s hands-down the best possible set-up in which to attend middle school.
As people who have read my blog (or are in cahoots with me on Facebook) know, the lead in to this whole middle school transition was extremely tough for our perpetual middle child. I haven’t been sleeping terribly well, in large part because I’m anxious. I so fervently hope that this actual transition to middle school (versus the anticipation of it) goes smoothly, that he is happy where he lands there are moments when I almost can’t exhale.
My prediction—let’s see whether it comes true—is that he’ll sail into his new school and the transition to high school for the eldest will give us all a run for our money (the 7:30 AM start time alone has me panicked). Or perhaps, second grade will start with a few bumps (already, I’m hearing, “I don’t want to read for twenty minutes every day.”). It’s even possible that Saskia will find the three-week break between summer and Sunnyside make for a challenging transition back to it. If sleep begets more sleep as I think it does, more time with her mama seems to beget more clinging to her mama…
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Having summer semi-end, with this soft family start to school, makes me realize a couple of things about this summer. First, I’ve had kid or kids around me a whole lot, between Saskia’s three-mornings-per-week Sunnyside schedule and many weeks off from camps. It’s been nice most of the time and too much togetherness some of the time. I’m not really quite ready to let certain aspects of summer go, while at the same time, I think—once we hit our stride in our new and renewed routines—I’ll realize I was craving the spaces of time without kids underfoot more than I even can imagine. That isn’t about love. It’s about quiet. Second, there was more summer I hoped to have, according to my wish list (fodder for another piece).
Still, there has been so much I’ve completely and utterly adored about this summer, including having a toddler enjoy so much of it so thoroughly: playing with her pals—even if to witness her hosting friends at her house sometimes resembles her audition for a hoarder docudrama—and getting comfortable in the swimming pool and discovering so many delights summer offers, like eating corn on the cob right after it’s been husked, even before it’s cooked.
Even if it’s been somewhat of a journey into my tangled heart, the great end-of-summer clean up that’s underway (and will undoubtedly endure far into the next season) has had its pleasures. I do, despite my overwhelm, despite all the self-doubt it’s unearthed like so much dust, believe that I am going to get a handle on my clutter and my chaos and our house will feel so much more comfortable because of it.
With luck, we’ll get everyone to school on time and the kids will begin to help keep the house together, too. Ultimately, I am, if nothing else, a half-full kind of gal.
