Summer, where'd ya go?

Summer

Sucked away with a chill

Away with the ringing of bells

Away with the saddles on their backs

Away with hooded sweatshirts and pants

Away with the clumsy morning dance

Away with the zombie trance

Away with  morning car ride sun glare

Away with new class schedules tripped up with error

Away with the singular noise of a snoring dog

Away with the coffee that cleared the fog

Away with the exhalation that escapes my lungs

Away with the pinch in my heart, a song unsung

Away with the anticipation of the groan of the afternoon bus

Away with the small thrill of the reuniting of us

first day of school

In the still new hours of the morning
in the still fresh breaths of September
down the stairs, to the corner
with burgeoning packs on their backs
like little beasts of burden
The older brother
the younger sister
her first year in a new school
but, he's got it all under control
He won't tell her that he cares
but he won't let her get off at the wrong stop
he won't tease her today
like he taunts her within his brother's rights at home
The bus groans and swallows them whole
They are growing up
but their faces still look so diminutive behind the glass
Their mother watches them shrink to little smudges
until they could be anyone's kid on the bus
She thinks of the first day of pre-kindergarten
when they were still small enough to carry
It always feels funny to send them off into the world
and find faith that they will honor and be honored
they will be nurtured
they will be safe
they will learn
they will return
She holds the hand of the littlest one
too young to be at the mercy of other teachers
too young to understand why her siblings have abandoned her
She asks to ride the bus tomorrow
Someday, someday
Soon, soon
Mother and little one sit in a quiet house
the day is drawn out slowly
like the measured steps of a tortoise
until ache of absence slowly dissolves
into an embrace of the clamor and hubbub
of 3:00, the hour when they return


As I write this, the house is devoid of all drumming, squawking, disquietude except for the steady whirring of the oscillating fan in the other room and the intermittent sighs of The Dog on the floor. The Baby started her first day of daycare today. It had become increasingly apparent toward the end of the school year that she needed a little bit more than what I could offer her during the day. She said to me once, in a fit of frustration, "You are mean. You don't know how to play with me." She is in the best hands- she is in a lovely home next door to my mother's home- with three other children for company. Aside from my final semester when I was finishing my undergraduate work, I have never put my children in daycare. It is only two half days per week but I feel a little bit guilty about it as I do not have a good reason other than The Baby and I needed a little break. And my guilt is more inflated by the fact that she cried and screamed when I left her, " Don't leave me here!!!" I know she will be fine. She will be home soon enough.  I just need to get used to the sound of my own noise in a peaceful house.

And, they're off!

This morning I stood at the front door and watched Henry, his feet planted at the corner of our street in the cool drizzle waiting for his bus. He was the first one to leave. His body was resolutely turned away from home-ears pricked up, anticipating the sounds of the wheels which would lift and carry him away from here. I wanted to reach through the screen door and scoop his distant figure up in my hands and bring him back inside.

On the morning of the first day of school, the ferocious beast of a mother's desire to watch over her children demands, "Oh, please don't go- we'll eat you up-we love you so." But, like Max, in Where the Wild Things Are- my children said, "No." They all woke at the dawn of a new era of maturity. No one (except The Mr.) rolled back under the covers when I came in to stir them. No one grumbled or cursed this day that robbed them of long, carefree hours. They dressed, they nibbled on breakfast, they combed their hair and brushed their teeth, and remembered their lunches- without a reminder from their hovering mother. They were gracious, grateful little impostors- wrapping their arms around me, cooing whispers of "I love you."

First Born Son was the second to leave. While he waited for The Mr. to take him to his shuttle bus, he kept rattling off names of freshman whose parents had asked him to keep an eye on them in the first weeks of school.  Two mothers approached him at the freshman orientation last week-where he was volunteering- and each slipped him $5 to make sure that their young, green teenagers boarded the public transit safely. He is, after all,  a sophomore- seasoned in the rhythm, rhyme and reason of high school. I have never seen him so serious about a task. But, the mothers never introduced him to their children; so, he had no idea who he should be shepherding. He resolved to play herdsman to an entire metro bus filled with students- many of whom are freshmen. "It's so much to remember! I've got to figure out who these kids are. There are too many of them! It's too much pressure! Life would be so much easier without children!"

And now, I hold my breath for the afternoon. If only the mothers who had entrusted him to play transportation caretaker to their children knew that it took him three hours to navigate his way home on the first day of school last year (circumventing our neighborhood numerous times and winding up at a Greyhound Station very nearly ready to board for NYC) because he was too proud to ask for help. Then, they might have sought the services of a less direction impaired student.

The last to leave was my girl. This year marks her first year riding the morning bus. She was boundlessly enthusiastic- and asked if we could stand at the corner 15 minutes early- 'Just in case it comes sooner than it is supposed to.' Today I could almost play the tune of my woefulness on the string that was attached from my heart to hers. She is becoming a young lady- losing her fickle love, open to more patience and understanding, more free with her sweetness. She still enjoys when I summon her with a string of pet names: AnnieBananie SweetiePie SugarCakes Bananaberry Poopernutter AnnaBee LoveyDovey HoneyButt. She is a fourth grader- the upperclassman of her school. This is her last year at the early childhood center she has attended since kindergarten. We will be looking ahead to middle school shortly.

Five more of our neighborhood friends and fellow students joined us at the bus stop. All were freshly scrubbed and pressed. All wide eyed and awake. All ready for a new beginning. And we, parents, stood with our iPhones in hand- squeezing them all together to fit into the frame to capture that first day of school. Another memory of our children stepping away from us. Not a single Timmy or Susie hesitated  when the bus pulled up and it was time to board. But, I felt the collective inhalation of my peers, a silent plea, "Wait!" with arms out stretched. "Wait, we are not ready to let you go yet." But, it was too late. Their smiling, gleeful, young faces swiftly faded from our view as their yellow chariot turned the corner and carried them toward the hallowed halls of elementary school. And, they're off...

And this, ladies and gentlemen, marks my 100th post.