Every year, right about this time, most mothers I
know are collectively exhausted.
We have stayed home with our kids, driven to and from
summer camp, pools, vacations (ha, yeah right, like we moms
actually get one of those) and countless park play dates. We have
invented games, licked hundreds of ice cream smears off cheeks and
cleaned up after endless homemade projects. We've broken up fights,
fought against boredom and applied sunscreen until our hands,
purses and clothing all smelled like summer.
Then, sweet September hits.
On that first day back to school, I am always filled with
a mixed bag of emotions. My youngest, just starting preschool,
still has the exuberance and wherewithal to jump for joy when she
sees character backpacks and yummy lunch treats. My tween, just
beginning middle school has already been tainted by homework and
social pressure. She is giddy with excitement to wear her first day
outfit, but anxious about the new demands a departmental curriculum
will bring. My two teens, a high school freshman just starting anew
and a senior with one foot already out the door are bundles of
nervous energy and angst - not knowing what this year will bring,
but certain it can't be anything too great if it's in a building
full of conformists and educators.
As for me, I look forward to getting back to routine. Ah,
lovely routine. I immediately launch into lunches, jumping awake
earlier than we all have been in months and rallying together the
Breakfasts are popped fresh from the toaster, backpacks
are prepared, photos are snapped (some smiling ear to ear, others
barely cracking a smirk), sleepy eyes are rubbed and dishes are
hastily left on the table as we march one by one out the door to
greet another year.
As I drop the children off or they leave with their
carpools, I feel the tears well up in my eyes - as they've done
since my oldest, nearly 17 now, made his first trek off in a
backpack larger than his tiny body could handle. These tears flow
naturally, as if they were just waiting for this release. They
mourn what has passed and hold anticipation for what is to
The first stage, a trickle of joy, for surviving a hectic
summer schedule without losing it totally. Then, harder,
as the little twinges of guilt - for what I should have or could
have done with them or for them - surface. Maybe I should have
planned a day alone for my little one? Perhaps another girl's day
could have been squeezed in. Should I have spent more time with my
son doing 'man' things?
Anger follows, for feeling that guilt, and with it
an internal shouting match with myself to get it
At this point, I am usually sobbing
uncontrollably in my front seat a block away from eyesight of any
other parents who are likely performing their own annual
rituals. Some have happy dances, some, slower paced
coffee-filled morning stops, and others, phone calls to friends
they left behind way back in June.
Finally, the climax. That bittersweet understanding
that my children grow up - whether I like or not.
I pull myself together with a sniffle, a tissue and a
I breathe deeply, close my eyes and see all the mini
versions of my children over the years on this first day of school.
I let that feeling of deep pride and accomplishment wash over me.
Okay, time to go home and tackle those breakfast dishes in peace
Sara Kutliroff. Web content writer, carpool chauffeur and grocery shopper by day, homework mom and chef extraordinaire by night. Wife to Daniel. Survivor of 4 kids growing too quickly in college, high school, middle school and elementary.
See more of Sara's stories here.
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