Begin Again

 This year, as we are all aware, has been one unlike any other.  That sounds so cliche because every year is different, but with an on-going pandemic still taunting our lives, there have been so many events we have never faced before.

The school year is no different.  In-person learning, locally, ended abruptly in March right about the time that I came down with covid-19.   The week I awaited my test results and gradually became sicker, we attempted the distance learning model at home.  When I became so sick I could hardly breathe sitting still, let alone walk around the apartment or deal with school work, we quit for multiple weeks.  

The children never went back to their classrooms again, not even to pick up school supplies.  Everything was handled outside the school building.  Playgrounds and parks were closed.  Swimming pools never opened.  The summer was also, one we had never experienced before.  As I have still been dealing with lasting effects of a six week fever from covid-19 and subsequent pneumonia, then a break and two weeks fighting off bronchitis, I have worked very little at my job, and we have been at home more than we have since I was a stay-at-home-mom six years ago.

What simultaneously seemed like suddenly and also ages later, the school year approached.  

Locally, the decision was made for the kiddos at our elementary school to have two separate first days, divided alphabetically.  That meant that my littles had their first day back inside the school building this past Friday.

They had been excited, nervous, anxious, and occasionally dreaded going back.  There were so many changes happening this year.  Masks are expected for students and faculty, and although not mandatory, we are told that if your child doesn’t wear a mask, they’ll be repeatedly asked to put one on, questioned, and parents may be contacted.  (Side note: this is not a mask debate, so please do not start one.). Each of my children’s classes will be eating lunch in their classrooms this year.  The playground has been divided into sections, and none of the classrooms in each grade level are permitted to play together during recess.  Visitors are restricted.  The sick policy is very stringent... so forth and so on.

So, when we prepared for school to begin, there was a lot to process.  Truthfully, having survived the virus, although it’s still causing me issues, my children and I have looked the potential fatality of it straight in the face and come out the other side, so I haven’t felt worried or anxious about sending my children to school. I know the risks involved, and I’ve heard all sides of the debates going on.  It was the right choice for my family for my children to return to school.

The first day of school for my children was riddled with initial excitement, some grumpiness, a little rain, a little sunshine, typical first day photos, and a fun new addition in that they were able to take a photo with their future step-sister, who also started the same day, and is now going to the same school they are.  As we walked to the school, knowing that unlike years past, we could not wait together on the playground, and children could not play on the playground before school, their nerves started rising slightly.  As we approached the doors they will enter this year and pulled up their masks over their noses, both boys hugged me and walked in with slight-to-no-hesitation.  Their sister was a different story.  She cried and clung to momma as hard as she could, eventually taking the hand of a friend and going inside.

I cried as I walked away.  It was not tears of fear or anxiety.  It was tears of letting go, tears of change, tears of momma-hood.

I was fortunate to pick them up for daycare myself, and each ran out of the school with a smile.  We talked about the days and they all reported that the first day was good.  The only complaint came from the middle kiddo.  There’s a nut allergy in his classroom and because they are eating inside the classroom, this year he cannot have peanut butter or Nutella, which is his favorite sandwich combination.  After researching and connecting with the proper faculty, we decided on Wow-butter and jelly as an alternative.  I sampled it and thought it tasted nearly identical.  I did not tell him about the swap because I was sure that if I did he wouldn’t give the sandwich a chance.

The report, his day was “good but there was something wrong with the sandwich at lunch.”  He took two bites and declared that to his classroom.  I tried it again today with more jelly.  We shall see what the report is.  He knows the science behind acquiring a taste for new foods, because he’s told me all about it before.  Somehow, the boys seem to think that it doesn’t apply to them personally however.  

Today was the second day of school.  Due to a light work schedule this week, I am able to walk them to their doors again.  This morning went more breezily, and there were less tears from the little miss.  There was more sunshine in the sky and less supplies in the backpacks.  There were still masks on the faces, but bigger smiles in the eyes.  Hopefully, there will be less wow-butter sandwich left in the box.

The first to first.

Today was a day that sort of snuck up on me, even though I've known it was on the horizon for months now.  Today was my first child's first last day of school.  Now, my first child is going to be a first grader.

That sounds unbelievable.  It seems like just weeks ago (I guess it was if you want to be technical) that I was sitting here, tears falling, after dropping him off for his first day of kindergarten.  Today, I dropped him off at school like it was no big deal, and wished his happy little self a wonderful last day of school.  

"Have a wonderful day too, Mom!" he called as he ran off.

I picked him up tonight, and he told me how his last day was awesome, and how he's now going to be a first grader.  

We didn't make a big deal out of it, like I know some people do. Maybe we should have.  I don't know.

We took his photo in his graduation year shirt, which he wasn't a fan of because it's too big, and I tried to explain how I want him to wear it every year on his last day of school so I can take his picture and compare.  He told me I was silly, but agreed to it anyway, and I hugged him, telling him I was so proud of him for all that he's learned and accomplished this year, for how brave he's become, and how joyful he has been.  I commended him on his perfect attendance, and his love for school, telling him how I loved school as a child as well.  He didn't have much interest for sentimental time and just wanted to have a little down time in the living room by himself reading one of his newer books from his last book order while his younger siblings enjoyed a big of fresh air before supper and bedtime.  

And that was that.  

Now it's our first summer vacation.  And next year, I'll have a first grader and a kindergartner and I don't know how my heart is going to handle it.

My second little Graduate

Dearest Collin,

Tonight, as your brother did a year ago, you celebrated your very first graduation.  You did it all in your own very unique style, with a lot of flair.  It's amazing how sometimes you can be so much like your big brother, and then other times, it's like you are complete opposites.

Because of your very special birthday being on the last possible day to go to kindergarten next year, you were not only the youngest in your class, but one of the shortest and spunkiest.   From the moment you walked into the sanctuary at church, you captured the attention.  My heart about exploded while you stood up in front proclaiming "I love you, Mama" in front of everyone, even if you were talking over the person who was trying to speak to the crowd.

Uncle Jesse, Auntie Sam, and Belinda all joined in the celebration tonight, and you were delighted to have them there to celebrate. You waved enthusiastically at both of your siblings, who were excited to watch you perform.  And... perform you did.  You were the loudest, busiest one in the group.  I wasn't surprised, and I was trying to hard not to stress out about the fact that you might have yelled at a couple people because you've definitely got a firecracker spirit and a mind of your own.

Your brother kept telling me how funny you were. Your sister kept telling me how awesome you were.  And everyone knew you were ours.

You knew all the words, and so long as your tassle and your sash were on properly, you sang your little heart out and did explosive actions.

You were thrilled when you received your diploma and went running to hug your teacher.

Thank you for the goofy, joy-filled memories.

We are so proud of you.  You've got big things ahead of you.  I know sometimes, I wonder if you're listening or paying attention, but you prove time and time again that you are.  You take after me in that you've got a vast expanse of trivia-type knowledge.  You love the sea, shapes, colors, automobiles.  You are stubborn though, so I never quite know what you know, because you only want to share on your own terms.  Remember when I asked if you could write a 'C' and you said yes?  I asked you to show me, you wrote an 'X' and I asked why.   You said "Because I wanted to write an X, not a C."

That's how you roll, Ollie Bear.

I'm a little nervous for you to become a big boy and join the realms of elementary school. I worry that your temper may get the best of you, and your teachers might be a little overwhelmed.  I hope they can give you hugs if you need, like your preschool teachers have learned to do.  It almost always diffuses the situation and brings you back down to earth.

I know you're excited to go to school like your brother, and I know you'll love learning there too.

You've grown up so fast.  I can hardly believe it.  You're a graduate.

I love you, Ollie Bear.  Thanks for all the joy you bring to my life, for teaching me unending patience and strength, and for not being ashamed to proclaim you love me, even when it's not perfect timing for the rest of the world.  I'll never grow tired of hearing it.

It has been a while, Ole.

Yesterday, my children and I found ourselves at my alma mater homecoming parade.

I choose this as my alma mater, although I did not graduate from the college, my heart never left.

My roommate, best friend, the other half of my brain was in town for our graduating class 10 year anniversary. Had she not been, I likely wouldn't have gone at all. I love her something fierce though, and gladly snatched the opportunity for much of the day together.

It was the first time I've visited in a few years. It was fun, and sad, and nostalgic, and contemplative.

I was nervous to go, because most everyone I knew from there knew me back when... back when I was young, in love, starting a life story with my former husband. They watched our relationship grow and blossom and be challenged and solidify. They all knew me back then.

Over the course of two years, I developed friendships there. One friendship in particular, with my aforementioned roomie bestie, has remained strong and really been cultivated over the last 14 years. As it usually goes, most dissipated to merely Facebook type friendships with occasional check ins and comments. I still consider these friends to be friends, but not close friends. It doesn't mean I don't value them, of course.

I knew that seeing my bestie would be wonderful. She's stuck by me through better and worse, longer now than my former husband did, and long enough to be family. But, I didn't know what to expect from seeing anyone else I knew.

I wasn't really a part of Augie long enough to leave a lasting mark, and I certainly don't believe I was very memorable or important to most people beyond my bestie, a camp friend, and one professor. When I saw people I knew, my inclination was to shy away because I was pretty sure they didn't know me well enough or like me enough to really have a conversation. It's okay, though, because I had my kids along to supervise.

As I sat and listened to people catch up with one another later in the day, while I pushed all three kids on swings, I felt myself retreat inwardly. Here were my classmates living their dreams and pursuing their careers and making something out of themselves and their degrees and had all sorts of accomplishments and stuff to talk about and compare.

And then there was me. The one who left after two years to pursue a social work degree that I used for a while. The one who had a fairy tale love story and three children whose life turn a psychotic thriller type turn, and now lives day to day usually, her main aspiration and goal to raise good children and provide them with a home and some sort of consistency. 

I felt inadequate, by no fault of anyone's except my own inner demons.

After talking with a trusted friend, I realized that my three children are a huge accomplishment and while they're not a career accomplishment or any great material reward or something, they're happy, thriving, and filled with the joy and love of the Lord.

So there's that.

Sometimes, I wish I had stayed there. I wish I had been a part of the last two years with my class and had those lasting friendships many do.

But, I won't play the what-if game.

I'm blessed as I am and my worth isn't defined by the two years at my alma mater, the things I did or did not accomplish because of or inspire of my degree, or what people remember of me or whether they remember me at all.

Really though, it was a good day. It was filled with laughter, smiles, some hugs, new memories, renewed and new friendships, and the beginning of sparked interest in my oldest child toward pursuing academic dreams in his future.

Little Graduate

Dear Spencer,

Last night was your first of many educational graduations. Last night, you graduated from preschool! I know that critics may claim it is not a true graduation, and quite honestly, years ago, I would have been one of them. Now that I am your Momma, I feel much differently.

Buddy Boy, I am so proud of you. Ever since you were a toddler and the first color you learned was chartreuse (of all things), I knew you had amazing potential. You learned your colors and shapes very early on, and your alphabet and numbers soon after. My heart was so full of joy, feeling like you were following in my honor roll footsteps. You spent much of your first four years at home with me, and I relished these years and took your education (as) seriously (as I could with your siblings and the assorted chaos of our lives).

It fractured my heart a bit when life's curveballs made it so you had to attend daycare and other women would be spending their days with you. 

I was also very nervous. You are my first born, the one who taught me how to be a mommy, and our bond was special. It was laden with challenges of your quirky personality and hate for change and new circumstances. I was very apprehensive to let you be in the care of strangers who didn't know what made you nervous, what brought you joy, and everything in between.

Last night was your graduation program. While you did not participate in the singing, I am proud of you. Last night, you joined your class in your classroom beforehand, willingly and happily, despite your tears and pleads not to on the way there. At one point, you even agreed to stand up front.

I know many adults may criticize us and my decision to not press the issue of you performing. When you walked in and saw the crowd, you panicked. I know thousands of adults would have done the same. An adult would call it a panic attack, anxiety, an extreme phobia, or other such thing, but when it comes to a little guy like yourself, it's often not seen with the same understanding and grace. I am sure many would be disappointed that I did not try to force you against your will to join.

But I heard your scared cry and I let you sit beside me. We watched the program together while you sang along quietly, and in between songs, I would try to urge you to join.  You would chose to stay in the audience. That was okay.

Your accomplishments, your strength, your intellect, your worth... None of that is measured by your willingness to stand in front of tons of strangers who are staring at you as you perform. Some people love performing. Many don't. Your mom is one who tenses up and gets nervous in front of an audience, so I understand.

I will always encourage you to try. I will work to develop your bravery, and we will continue to pray for bravery and strength in situations like that. I believe one day you will join, and you will be so proud of yourself for doing so.

Until then, know that you're amazing, even out of the spotlight. You know so many things, you can do so many things, you have the emotional intelligence of an elementary school student for sure, you have a huge, compassionate, and empathetic heart, and you bring so many of us such great joy. Many know this of you already, some refuse to see it or understand, but one day, countless people will know.

I am so blessed to be your Momma, my little graduate. You have big things in store for your future!

Love,

Mom