It's past midnight and I can't sleep. Maybe it's anxiety. Maybe it's because I have a new baby and have been sleeping weird hours. Maybe it's the 20 oz of Mountain Dew I consumed tonight. Whatever the reason, I've given up lying in bed and have decided to celebrate the first day of school by writing about it
Today was the first day of school for four of my five children. I've always loved the first day of school. I love the newness of pencil erasers and notebooks. I love new school clothes. I love the beginning of the fall season. However, the school year has a progression that, in spite of my best efforts, continues every year.
I'll start with the evening before the first day, when we lay out carefully selected outfits. The children all shower before bed. We trim hair and nails. We make sure bedrooms are straightened up, in order to ease the morning chaos. Backpacks and lunches are carefully packed. This kind of super organization will last a few weeks into the school year, and then it will slowly erode. One kid will miss a shower one night. Two nights later, the laundry will still be in the dryer and we won't be able to lay out clothes. Someone will need to finish homework in the morning, so a backpack won't get packed. By thanksgiving, the whole system will have imploded. Kids will be showering when I have the energy to nag for twenty minutes. The next morning, they'll pick clothes from the mixture of dirty and clean laundry on the floor. Backpacks will be stuffed as they walk out the door to the bus, and will consist of a mixture of wadded up old assignments, notes from teachers I never received, and current homework. At various points throughout the school year, I will make valiant efforts to get back on track. After Christmas, everything will be better. I'll stay on top of it all.
Breakfast is another landslide waiting to happen. This morning we sat down, as a family, to hot, fresh cinnamon rolls (thank you Jared). Tomorrow, scrambled eggs. Friday, oatmeal. Next week, we will still have family breakfast, although once or twice we'll give in to the temptation of cold cereal. In two weeks, the children will help themselves to cold cereal as they wake up. In a few months, we'll be handing them granola bars as they walk out the door. Eventually, they'll have to scavenge for stale popcorn for breakfast.
Tomorrow, I will spend the first half hour after school totally devoted to my children. We will go through backpacks. I will admire the work they accomplished that day. Together, we will lovingly hang their artwork. I will know all about little Johnny getting sick in the bathroom, and the hilarious thing Suzie said on the bus. In March, there will be heaps of paper scattered about. I will spend precious time deciphering whether homework has been turned in and returned, or still a work-in-progress. The teacher emails will be rolling in, saying "Child X is missing assignments A, B, C and D" and "Child Y STILL hasn't turned in a book report from last month."
Don't even get me started on reading logs! This month, we will hang them in a prominent location. We will read and mark the calendar EVERY DAY! In two months, I will mark every day at the end of the month, sign it, and the child will turn it in. Eventually (at parent teacher conference), the teacher will point out that we're missing the last two reading logs. I will feel like a deer in the headlights.
So, I'm taking this moment to enjoy today. Pencils have full erasers and sharp points. The bottoms of the backpacks aren't full of crayon papers and candy wrappers. The principal and I haven't had any heart to hearts yet. I am superwoman, organized and on top of it all. This week.
