Here it is September. With two back to school nights down, life is good. I really despise attending back to school nights. First of all, it is expensive. Everyone wants money for their committee. Secondly, I don't fit in. All these parents asking about the reading program and the grading rubrics, and the spelling tests makes me want to scream. The mothers were asking questions, the fathers were diligently taking notes in their IPhones. I figure, my kids will fill me in.
I have always given my children's teachers tons of credit. They are able to have a personal relationship with every child in their classroom and know when to push and know when to back off. I know I couldn't do it, and it does me well knowing that my kids are in good hands.
So, I say life is pretty good now that most of my kids are in school. My house stays somewhat clean, adoption stuff is moving ahead, I can devote myself to games that I don't have to read the directions for. Outings are way less chaotic and Clare and Clark get along perfectly as long as she is allowed to be the boss.
My fairy tale came to a screeching halt today when my 8 year old refused to get out of bed, then refused to eat breakfast then refused to put his socks and shoes on. He was refusing to go to school. "I hate school!" he screamed, "Everyone is teasing me." Ohh, no, I thought, what has happened to my boy? He has had a bad case of poison ivy and missed a day last week. I had a suspicion that it was more of a personal day, and I was ok with that. My heart broke for him today and a big part of me wanted to say ok, you don't have to go. You can live with me forever and I will protect you. I realized that September through May, the teachers see my children more than I do. This makes me want to cry. I put him on that bus, regardless, his eyes filled with tears, me praying that he will be fine.
The entire day I thought about him wondering if public school was the best place for him. Wondering if he was feeling rejected or hurt or incapable, and when 3:30 came, I had a nice snack on the table and I looked him in the eye and told him we needed to talk. He apologized and said his day wasn't so bad. He admitted that he needed to ask for help more often and with tears in his eyes he told me, "school is hard, I have trouble in math." I told him that there are teachers in that school just dying to be able to show off their mad math skills to him, he just needs to ask for help.
Over cookies and yogurt I listened to the kids talk about a paper football showdown and a lego building contest. I quickly realized that these years with my kids are the best its going to get. I silently vowed that I will wholeheartedly enjoy them, deal with the mess and enjoy their laughter, their dirty feet, the legos underfoot and their innocence. So when the chandelier shakes with them dancing to their favorite song, "Dynamite", I will not tell them to turn it down, I just might go dance with them.
