Okay, so the title of my post is cheesy, but hear me out. Back to school isn’t just for kids anymore, and if any of you are moms out there, you’ll know what I mean. I have three kids: one in kindergarten, one in pre-K, and one about to start nursery school, and, man oh man, are the first few weeks back in boot camp/school hard for everybody involved. Here’s what back to school means to me now that I’m a mom:
Making the school run twice because one of my daughters forgot her (pick any of the following): book bag, library books, gym shoes, homework, lunch, field trip permission slip, pillowcase for naptime.
Having to write REALLY REALLY small on the calender again as the days fill up with sports practises, gym classes, back to school nights, volunteer hours, birthday parties, and playdates.
First hauling myself out of a lovely warm bed at too early an hour, and then trying to convince three, little people that getting up, getting dressed, and getting out the door is a great idea when they KNOW better.
Racing home at noon on the day online after-school registration starts to make sure I get a space in (fill in the blank): soccer, karate, choir, ballet, language class.
Trying to figure out when and why Daughter #1 has morphed from the arts diva, who loved singing and dancing, into Sporty Spice, who only wants to do athletics.
Staying up late to bake two dozen muffins for a class birthday celebration (we have a September birthday in the family).
Filling out all the medical forms, transportation forms, permission forms, and family history forms, and then accidentally mixing them up and mailing some of them to the wrong schools.
Trying to force my kids to wear real shoes again after three months of bare feet and flip flops. Ditto with combing hair, bathing on a regular basis with actual, real-live soap, and getting to bed at a reasonable hour.
Making a panicked, last minute appointment for haircuts because picture day is next week and, according to several reliable sources, my children look like yetis.
And, finally, trying not to cry and failing as I watch them sail off into another year of their lives with skinned knees, shoulders that seem too small for their bookbags, and, I hope, the wind perpetually at their backs. Hope you and yours are surviving re-entry! If you need a tissue, let me know. I’ve got a bunch stuffed up my sleeve.