They are so ready.
It’s a matter of days, now, until the boys head back to school: One to a familiar setting, teachers and friends (for whom he’s been asking since June), one to an entirely new place and adventure. He is, characteristically, excited.
We have our supplies, crayons, art smocks, new lunchboxes and backpacks. (Batman and Perry the Platypus, respectively.) There are new jeans that actually fit (man, they <\Iz12f”sans-serif”>grew) and new shirts in the closet. The days are marked on the calendar. I get asked every day, if it’s time.
No, I say. Not yet. It will get here. Two more months ... a few more weeks ... days ...
And now it’s almost upon us. I’m very glad to see them heading back to school — they’ve been bouncing off the walls and driving us just a little bit nuts — but I’m pensive, too. Is the little one ready for this? Is the big one doing everything he can do?
I think so. Sometime you just have to give them a kiss (I can hear it now ... “MoooOOOM!”) and send them off. Neither of them have never, ever showed the faintest sign of separation anxiety (it’s more like “Oh, are you still here?”), so that’s one less thing to worry me.
But I worry anyway.
For Sam, this is the start. School lunches and report cards and cubbies (later lockers) are on their way. The kids he meets this week could very well be standing with him in 13 years at graduation. Best friends, nemeses, prom dates. It’s enough to make a mommy get misty eyed.
He’s more than ready to learn. I hope he does a little better at paying attention. I hope he remembers how we’ve talked about personal space. I hope he loves school as much as I loved it a long, long time ago, on my first day of kindergarten.