The First Day of School Blues
For who?
Ahhh, Labor Day. Here in the NorthEast (New Jersey to be exact), the air is still thick and humid after another week of 90-degree temps, but somehow that journey across the last summer weekend — August into September- makes the atmosphere smell and feel different.
It’s basically fall. The Halloween decorations and pumpkin spice everything will try hard to convince you. On one hand, I love the fall once I settle in. On the other hand, I have to navigate that “back to school” feeling, even though it’s not me going back.
There is definitely an air of melancholy that comes with it. Perhaps it’s years of conditioning based on the fact that it’s the symbol of the summer being over, or maybe it’s my awareness of another year passing with my kids. Or maybe still, it’s the recognition of another year passing for me.
It’s probably a bit of all three.
My daughter is 23 now, so her BTS days are behind her, but my son is 16 and going into his Junior year of High School. While I’ve never been what I would call a “hands-on school mom”, meaning I mostly let my kids handle whatever they needed to when it came to school, I’m now missing that involvement because it’s not really needed. Nor is it wanted, I’m sure!
Last night I went upstairs into my son’s room to try and help him organize whatever supplies he needed to bring today. He mainly wondered what the heck I was doing, and side-eyed me as he played his video games with a friend. After about 5 minutes I got “I can do that, mom. It’s okay”. Ummm, okay for who? Sure it’s okay for you but what about me?! I’m just trying to stay involved in any way I can! (Loud inner wailing)
I had high hopes for the beginning of the year. My vision for this morning went as follows:
I had asked my dear boy to set his alarm so he could start getting up without relying on me to be a backup. He said okay. So down he would come, cheerful and ready for the day.
He doesn’t typically eat first thing in the morning, but because of football, I wanted him nourished, so I planned to make him waffles. He could eat them while he got ready!
Although I prefer him to bring food with him for lunch, it was the first day so I intended to give him some cash for lunch out with his friends.
I pictured us sharing a nice goodbye as he would exit the car and make his way into another year closer to his future.
This is how this morning actually went:
Although he says he set his alarm, it did not go off. I waited about 5–7 minutes and went up. I repeated that three times because the first two attempts to get him up didn’t succeed.
He stumbled downstairs and into the shower. After which he needed me to give him my favorite hoodie — which is really his hoodie that I stole, and yes, it’s still in the ’80s here though it was raining.
He came down and we drove to school, fairly silently. When he did get out of the car, I wished him a magical day and he said nothing.
And then I realized not only did I not make him breakfast, but I forgot to give him money for lunch, so he would be surviving on a lone cereal bar intended as a snack between classes.
Ugh, what the fuck? *Facepalm*
My son was completely fine all day and didn’t give any of the above a moment of a second thought. He went to school and did his thing.
Because I’m human, I find myself playing the *shoulda* game quite often when it comes to my kids.
I shoulda made more family meals. I shoulda been more organized. I shoulda mandated family time once a week. I shoulda shown more interest in their daily experiences and started conversations.
Surely all of that would have painted a much better reality today than what I’m experiencing!
And then again…I did those things many times. And sometimes it worked out and other times it didn’t. And I remind myself to find self-compassion and see the Truth of what actually is.
My kids have always known I’m here for them. They feel safe and loved and taken care of. They understand the importance of family. They understand the importance of having pride in your work — whether it be schoolwork or job work. I’ve done an okay job, and my son being a 16-year-old, tired, quiet teenager on the way to the first day of school says nothing about me as a mom.
I’ll need to remind myself of this again later when I look forward to a full dissertation on every aspect of his day, but when I ask him how it went, all I get is “fine”.
*This is dedicated to all those parents out there struggling with the letting go, and resisting the okayness of what is. You’re doing awesome. xo
