As a child, I was the weird one in my neighbourhood; I loved going back to school. New shoes, clothes, and school supplies were great, but what I enjoyed most was going back to class itself.
Now, as a parent, I am deeply ambivalent about this time of year and preparing my kids for going back. Like any parent who doesn’t home-school, I laugh with recognition at the television commercial of the prancing parent pushing a shopping cart, while his sulking kids trudge behind, and the music blares out, “It’s the most wonderful time of the year!”
At the beginning of the summer, having them home and at loose ends is delightful. The ice cream! The time on the beach! The relaxed, easy-going schedule!
It’s wonderful to not have to ferry them around to Scouting and swimming and skating, and just hang out together.
It’s even better to go away together as a family to have adventures. This year, we camped and swam and learned to surf, among other things.
Once vacation trips are finished, though, I find late-summer boredom sets in. It’s like all the adventures become part of their routine. When that happens, even my usually polite and helpful kids can get mopey and whiney.
This past weekend, for example, I shelled out for a movie and a trip to Butchart Gardens to see the fireworks. The kids were polite and appreciative — until the next day, when I nixed a plan for ice cream from the ice cream truck and several other money-draining plans. Cue the sulks.
So the return to school, to the normal routine of lunch-making, early bedtimes and school in the morning would be novel at this point for them, and a relief for me.
That being said, back-to-school time is the Great Money-Drainer. Every parent of school-aged kids knows this drill; we have to start shelling out for school supplies, clothes and after-school activities.
I try to remain grateful my family can afford all of what my children need, and some of the things they want. I’m usually successful, until I see the balance on my chequing account in late August.
This year, I haven’t even started my back-to-school shopping yet. I’d rather hang out in my backyard, eat ice cream and pretend it’s not going to happen any time soon.
This back-to-school is a little different, though: it’s the first year all of my kids are going to school in some form. Eddie, who was a baby when I started writing this column 2 1/2 years ago, is starting preschool in a few short weeks. It’s just two afternoons a week, but it makes it official: My baby boy is no longer a baby.
He’s delighted to finally be joining the big kids in trekking off to school with a backpack. “I’m a big, big boy, momma! I go to preschool soon!”
As he sits in my lap and crows about the upcoming year, I don’t see my last son, but my first.
Alex is almost 12; I remember dropping him off for his first day of preschool. He was so excited, he barely slept the night before. In the morning, he proudly walked into the class, hung up his backpack and ordered me to leave. I felt like such an old mom, with a kid in preschool and two more little ones. I was 29 years old and many years younger than other parents dropping off their wee ones.
Seven years later, Alex is entering middle school this September. When I drop Eddie off at preschool in a few weeks, I will undoubtedly be one of the older mothers there.
I need to get out of my late summer doldrums and accept the inevitable. School is coming. I better dig out the school-supply lists and get on with it.
