So, this is it. One more “official” day of summer. That’s it, finished, done, thanks for the memories, goodbye. By all accounts I should be dancing in my living room and singing, “It’s the most wonderful time of the year…”
I’m packing my youngest off to first grade this year. For the first time in almost seven years I get all day long to do what I need to do instead of the mad dash to pick someone up at noon (or arrange day care when I’m working, etc). Additionally, my eldest two are, theoretically, becoming more self-sufficient. The world is my oyster, so to speak.
Then why do I feel so sad?
It’s not that I don’t think that school is important – I really do. I also think that it’s important for kids to have something that resembles a schedule, of which lately we’re sorely lacking. Plus it’s good for kids to be with their own peers. These are all good things.
I think the problem is with me. I’m not good with transitions. Quite frankly, I liked being lazy this summer and school is a lot of work. (Since I re-live every year of my education with my kids. Can’t wait to do college over again (NOT). I also liked my kids’ company and we were able to do some fun things.
This too shall pass, as they say. Talk to me in October and I’ll say, “I love school!” Maybe.
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