It’s the first week in August which means we are now officially speeding down the slope to middle school. As in it’s really, truly, without a sliver of doubt, deadline looming time.
We’re no longer dealing in abstracts – the “at the end of the summer”, “it’s still more than seven weeks away”, “you’ve got two more camps to enjoy” sort of comments have dwindled and died on our lips. When the kids look at our calendar they’re now faced head-on with that circled date.
The First Day Of School.
We’ve got a lot of changes coming our way this year. One of the bigger adjustments for me will be my return to the pick up line after a (glorious) five-year hiatus. I’m sure many of you are thinking “stop babying T-man and let him ride the bus, he’ll be fine,” but someone
with their head up their ass higher up the decision making food chain decided it was a good idea to bus middle and high school students together.
Setting T-man loose on a bus with high school kids? No thanks, I’ll suck it up and get in the car rider line.
We’re also entering a brand new world of opportunity. The school doesn’t allow sixth graders to play sports, but T-man will have the chance to join after school clubs. He’s mentioned an interest in the band, although I’m not quite sure how that would work seeing as he doesn’t play an instrument. The band’s annual field trip to an amusement park seems to be driving this interest, but whatevs. I’m just along for the ride.
I’m certain we’re in for another go ’round on my Cool Factor instruction. I’ve never considered myself particularly out of touch but apparently my oldest child thinks I’m a dinosaur. Middle school will most likely cement that impression, so I’m steeling myself for plenty of “Mooooommm!”
Then there’s the mile long list of things I’m genuinely clueless about. What school supplies does T-man need? How much homework will there be each night? Will I even know what his homework is? Do they have dances? Will I survive the intensity of his first real dance? Will I need to chaperone said dance, and would my son literally die of embarrassment from my sheer presence?
And that’s just the beginning. I’m sure one week in there’ll be another mile long list of new parent questions. Maybe I’ll luck out and find a support group. Preferably one that meets over coffee. Or ice cream. Or wine.
So here we are, perched at the top of the mountain, just waiting for that buzzer to hurtle ourselves headlong toward the school year.