Wow. After two weeks without the children, followed by two weeks of vacationing first in the Adirondacks with Ed's family and then in Montreal and Vermont with just the four of us, it seems as if summer has officially found its end. As I type this, Helen and Connor are sleeping, with first day of school clothes laid out, and Ed and I figuring out who's going to perform drop-off duty and who will take on pick-up.
I don't cherish the end of summer. I like the time Connor and Helen have at home. I like the looseness of most days, and even on days when nothing seems to get accomplished, I like the idea that at least we probably weren't rushed in the morning, grabbing sips of coffee on the way out the door and crossing fingers that nothing requiring a return trip to school would be forgotten.
Connor will be entering fifth grade - the oldest grade at our elementary school. He's in a classroom with many students who have never been in his class, the byproduct of having four sections of his grade.
Helen feels like she's flying a bit solo, but she's absolutely ready to dive in. She has the same teacher Connor had for second grade, and that is a huge relief for me. I am certain Helen will love her.
I have my own first-day jitters. I'm starting a book club for students in Helen's and Connor's classes. If I don't get enough takers in their classes, I'll expand to other classes in the grade. But since I'm hoping for a group of about eight, I suspect it won't be too difficult to fill.
This is the moment in the school year, when the world seems full of possibilities. Pencils are sharpened, backpacks are clean, nobody has asked a child to do any meaningless homework. The hope of getting the perfect teacher fills the house, and somehow I am able to believe that THIS will be the year that everything will just work out.
Fingers crossed. Let's do this!