Good Enough

Yesterday, I sent my youngest off to her first day of high school. Today, I sent my oldest off to his first day of sophomore year. In keeping with tradition, they held signs and posed for photos on the front steps. 

 

But the difference was that this year the signs were a little less fancy and the photos were a little less polished. Because they were always a "Dad thing." Dad knew how to print a document with a fancy border and elegant text, and he had a photographer's eye that avoided shadows and lens flare and always had balanced composition. This year, it fell on me. I did the best I could, but I'm not Dad. 

My signs had a simple, rectangular border and a basic font without any shading or highlighting. I apparently picked a color that wasn't dark enough to show up really well in the photos. The photos are framed so the kids are a little off-center, the steps not exactly horizontal. There are weeds visible at the foot of the stairs. I deleted a bunch of the ones where they're both standing up because they have such a significant height difference that I either cut off the top of my son's head or I zoomed out so much that it just looked weird. 

But I got it done. We have photographic evidence of their first day. Years from now, when I put together the whole series of "First Day of School" photos, there won't have to be a gap. The difference in quality might be noticeable to some, but there won't be an absence. 

Except there will be an absence. We will always remember, when we look at these photos, that this was the first big moment when Dad wasn't there. When we had to carry on with normal life even though it was far from normal. When Mom stepped in and did her best, but it wasn't quite the same. 

I expect there to be a lot of moments like that in the future: Not quite the same. When they graduate from high school, we won't have the standard photos of Mom and Dad framing the beaming graduate. But we'll have photos, and although it won't be quite the same, it will be good enough. When they get married, Dad won't walk my daughter down the aisle or give my son "manly advice" and a fatherly slap on the back, but I'll be there. It won't be the same, but it will be good enough. When they buy their first house, Dad won't be the one sabering champagne to celebrate, but one of us that he trained will be. It won't be the same, but it will be good enough. When they become parents, Grandpa won't be there to hog the baby, but Nana Pott will have plenty of cuddles and lots of stories of the amazing, funny, wonderful, loving grandfather that they never met. It won't be the same, but it will be good enough. 

Nothing will ever be the same. But I think it just might be good enough. 

One Year Later

Every now and then I like to look back over my blog and see what I was up to on this date a year ago, or a few years ago, or quite a few years ago. And although it isn't exactly to the day, on September 8, 2015, almost exactly one year ago, my son and I had our first official day of homeschool.

This is what my kids looked like on that day:

And this is what I looked like on that day:

Last week I sent both kids off - not just to school, but to school on the school bus - and they looked like this:

But I looked like this:

It was quite a year. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad that I did it. And it was absolutely the right choice for all concerned. But one year later, homeschooling had done exactly what it was supposed to do, and despite the slightest hint of trepidation, I was happy and proud to wave goodbye to two excited and confident children as they hopped on that bus without a single backwards glance.

Who'd have guessed one year ago that this day would go so easily? Looking back one more year, to September 4, 2014, when I began unofficially homeschooling my son, I certainly wouldn't have. That year was a year of planning and practicing and dipping my toe in the pool. One year ago was actually jumping into the pool. And this year is standing on the edge, watching my kids paddle around while not jumping in to save them when they don't need saving, or to check on them, or even to critique their swimming style.

Of course, if they are genuinely in distress and in need of saving, I'll be there in a heartbeat. But until they need me, I'll just be over here chillin' with my fellow lifeguard.

First Day

This is weird.

This morning, I put both my kids on a school bus for the very first time, waved to them, and then went about my business for seven hours.

That's never happened before.

I mean, I've been away from them for that long. But never without knowing that I could pick up the phone at any time and the person responsible for them would answer and tell me exactly what was happening. I didn't take advantage of that knowledge, but I knew I could.

You can't do that when your kids are in school. For one thing, the teacher is too busy being responsible for them and 20 of their soon-to-be closest friends to stop and take a phone call from a paranoid parent. For another, they go to a bunch of different places. Are they on the playground for recess? In the cafeteria eating lunch? Playing in the gym? Painting in the art room? Enjoying story time in the library?

So all day long, I've been wondering, "Where are they right now? What are they doing right now?" But in addition to that, I can't help but also wonder, "Were they scared or confused when they got off the bus? Did they like their new teachers? Did they find someone to sit with at lunch? Did they remember to wash their hands after they used the bathroom? Will they be able to find the right bus at the end of the day?" So many questions.

And with one hour left before the bus brings them back home, I'm trying to decide which of those questions I should ask them at the end of their first day. Actually, I probably shouldn't ask them any of those questions. What I should be asking them is things like, "Who was the nicest person you met today? What did you like best about your new classroom? What did you bring home in your backpack? What was your favorite part of the day? Who was wearing the cutest first-day-of-school outfit? (that one's for my daughter) Who had the coolest backpack? (that one's for my son) What was the most interesting thing you learned today?"

Because I know that my attitude will rub off on them. They'll understand my concerns about school, even if I don't express them in so many words. If I approach them with questions that assume their first day was scary and uncertain and unpredictable, they'll think of school as being scary and uncertain and unpredictable. But if I ask them questions that assume their first day was exciting and interesting and fun, they'll think of school as being exciting and interesting and fun.

And that's exactly what school should be: exciting and interesting and fun. And I bet that if I approach it that way, I'll be sure to get the right answer when I ask, "Are you looking forward to going back tomorrow?"

Reflections on the Incipient First Day of School

Today is T minus 5 days until my kids start public school. I'd be lying if I said this wasn't at the front of my mind most of my waking hours lately. I mean, I'm going from homeschooling 1 child and being the primary caregiver for both, to handing over the reins to two complete (albeit I'm sure very nice and perfectly competent) strangers. I am, in a very real sense of the term, losing my job in 5 days.

Unlike losing a "real" job, however, I have to stay around to see the results that my successors are bringing about in the projects that I have spent 5 and 6-1/2 years, respectively, laying the foundations for. I don't get to walk away completely and start something new. No, like a divorcee forced to live in a house with her ex and his new wife, I am constantly faced with the new relationship that I am not a part of.

Overly dramatic, much? Yeah. But also, no. These teachers - these wonderful, dedicated, experienced teachers - are taking away something I love more than my own life: spending time watching and helping my children become adults. These may be only the first steps toward adulthood, but I am very conscious that those steps are steps away from me.

But I need to remind myself that this was the plan from the very beginning. From the moment I saw those two lines on the stick, my goal was to teach my children to become self-sufficient, independent adults, able to make their own choices and deal with the consequences, both positive and negative. I knew all along that my job was to lose my job. But it's very difficult to figure out when the children are ready to begin making their own decisions - and it's even more difficult to allow them to make those decisions.

This idea of allowing my children to make their own decisions and to fight their own battles came to the fore this afternoon as our whole family attended a school-wide cookout at their elementary school. The playground was open to all students, from pre-K up to 5th grade, and their families. Which meant that there was much competition for the best playground equipment: 4th graders hogging the ziplines; 2nd graders claiming the swings for half an hour at a time; pre-K kiddos literally pushing each other out of the way at the bottom of the slides. It was an education in the huge range of parenting theories and techniques that are out there. It was the law of the jungle.

I will admit that I gave in once, when I happened to be giving my son a boost onto the zipline and another kid tried to grab the handle out of his hands. I turned my head and was literally in the kid's face. His look was a challenge; this was not a kid who was going to back down just because an adult was there. I tried to keep my mouth shut. I swear, I really did. But I suddenly I heard my own voice saying, "You know, he's been waiting in line for a turn and you just had a bunch of turns" (I neglected to add "because you shoved a bunch of smaller kids out of the way"). The kid looked me in the eye for a second, then backed off and headed off elsewhere.

Should I have let my son fight that battle? Yeah, probably. But I'm still glad he knows that I've got his back. Even if I make him fight first, I want him to know that I'm always right behind him, to push him forward if needed, to cover his retreat if he chooses, to talk through his choices after the fact and figure out how to make better choices next time. To support his choices, whatever they may be.

We're all learning, my kids and I. They're learning that they can make their own decisions, and that sometimes they're wrong, and sometimes they're right. I'm learning that making wrong decisions won't kill them. Or me. But making decisions - even wrong decisions - will give them the confidence to continue making decisions throughout their life. Making a wrong decision and surviving the consequences is one of the most important experiences a child can have. If I try to deprive my children of that experience, what kind of mom am I?

Not the kind I want to be. Not the kind I will be. At least, not the kind I'm trying my hardest to be, 5 days from now.

Staples Got It Right, or, It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

You remember this commercial, don't you? The first time you heard it, I'm sure you wondered why the TV was playing Christmas music in August (or, more likely, July). But then you watched this exuberant dad riding through the aisles of Staples on his shopping cart, happily buying back-to-school supplies for his stonefaced children to the refrain of the Christmas song, "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year." The clear implication being, of course, that parents see the first day of school as being even more wonderful than Christmas.

I got it, but I never REALLY got it until this year, when I actually WILL be sending both my children off to school at 8am on Tuesday, August 30th. (And yes, I do know exactly how many days, hours, and minutes it is until then.)

Don't get me wrong: I love my kids, and I love spending time with them. But after nearly 7 years of stay-at-home parenthood, I need a break. THEY need a break. Sure, they've gone to nursery school and gymnastics and dance classes and playdates and all kinds of other activities that have gotten them out of the house and listening to other adults besides me. But there's something different about school.

I think it's because school is an unavoidable, long-term commitment. Nursery school lasts for only two or three years; kids may eventually lose interest in gymnastics and dance or turn to other interests; playdates and friends will change over time. But school will take up the majority of their time and focus for the next 13 years. How they perform over those 13 years will shape their futures.

It's a pretty big deal.

I will no longer be the primary educator and disciplinarian in their lives. From 8am until 3pm every weekday, someone else will make and enforce the rules. They will have multiple new authority figures who are not Mom or Dad. That is a huge change for them and for me.

I'm confident that they'll deal well with the change. I've given them a solid base of self-confidence, personal skills, and curiosity which should serve them well in a school setting. They have respect for authority, interest in learning, and a friendly outlook. I've spent the past 5+ years preparing them for this moment.

But no-one's been preparing me.

For the past 7 years, a huge part of my identity has been being a stay-at-home parent. My JOB was to be a parent. And I was on call 24/7 at that job. Yes, I have an awesome co-worker, but he has a full-time job of his own, so I was the primary on this job. And my hours have suddenly been slashed. I'm still pretty important, but I suddenly find myself with unassigned time to be filled. And I'm not quite sure what to do with that.

Maybe I'll get a job outside the home. Maybe I'll find work I can do from home. Maybe I'll finally write that best-seller that my husband is convinced I have inside me. I just don't know. It's a little terrifying, but it's also a little exciting.

And it's very definitely the most wonderful time of the year.

Homeschooling: Day 1

Today is my first official day as a homeschooling mom.

This is what my kids looked like as they headed off, respectively, to preschool and back into our home classroom:

And this is what I looked like as I headed back into our home classroom:

Being the planner that I am, I have lists of topics and projects and resources and crafts. I have lesson plans and a ringbinder and evaluation charts. I have worksheets and educational websites and DVDs and library books. I SHOULD know what I'm doing: I have experience, I've done the research, I've put in the preparation time, and yet somehow I still feel like I'm flying by the seat of my pants. I still feel like I have no idea what I'm doing.

I can't help but be reminded of when I was pregnant with this very child, my son, my firstborn, and my husband and I attended a one-day birthing class led by a wonderful L&D nurse practitioner with two children of her own, who told the class, "Go ahead and write up a birthing plan. Write down exactly what you want to happen, exactly how everything should go, what all of your choices are under various circumstances. [She paused for a moment.] And then rip it up and throw it away, because you're not the one driving this bus. Your doctor isn't the one driving this bus. Your baby is the only one driving this bus, and your baby is the one who will be driving every decision that is being made from here on out. And the sooner you accept that, the easier the whole process will be for all concerned."

I can't help but think that this wise advice applies to homeschooling as well. After all, one of the main advantages of homeschooling is that you can tailor both the material and the teaching methods to the needs and personality of the individual child. And no matter how well I know my son, there's no predicting how he will respond to a certain type of problem, or how well he will take to a particular subject, or what kind of schedule will work for him, once we actually get into the nitty-gritty of a scheduled and structured (however loosely) school day.

So I may have a fabulous list of science projects that include stinky and messy (and vaguely dangerous) chemical experiments, but he may only be interested in cleaner and neater (and absolutely dangerous) electricity experiments. Maybe he won't want to go on a nature walk. Maybe I'll need to figure out different ways to introduce him to the worlds of science and nature. I may have all kinds of ideas about drawing pictures to illustrate the stories we read, but he might have no interest. Maybe I'll discover that he would rather dress up like one of the characters in the book we're reading and act out what we just read instead of drawing a picture of it.

But I'm willing to experiment. I'm willing to wade through my lists of ideas and options and opportunities and see what works for us. I'm willing to throw a whole bunch of educational spaghetti at the wall and see what sticks. I'm willing to take a page from my own notebook and come up with a hypothesis, test it out, and if it doesn't work, come up with a different hypothesis, and just keep testing.

It may be my son's home school, but he's not the only one who'll be learning a few things this year!