I’m recovering from a cold. It hit with a vengeance on Isaac’s first morning of kindergarten; I woke up with that tell-tale sore throat that often promises a sinus infection, and thought: Of course. Here we go. I spent the next week diligently doing my sinus washes, drinking water fizzing with Alka Seltzer Cold, and carrying on basically as usual, except for last Friday when I had to squeak pitifully at a class of exuberant sophomores, “Guys? This is all I’ve got. Help me out.” They furiously shushed each other, and at the end of the period, one girl volunteered to be my voice when I wanted to remind everyone about something for the next class. They are lovely people. Anyway, I’ve gone through a lot of Kleenex, and I’ve drunk too much Nyquil, which gives me strange dreams. But I’m well on my way back to healthy, and life still seems awfully sweet.
(Sidenote: I resisted Alka Seltzer Cold for years out of sheer stubbornness. My band director in college was a fanatic about it. If I sneezed during a private trumpet lesson he literally pulled it out of his desk drawer and insisted I drink it on the spot. And then I married Matt, who did the exact same thing. I’m telling you, these people are insufferable and irritating and I want to mix their stupid Alka Seltzer with whiskey and drink it at them but at this point I also might have to admit that it at least doesn’t do any harm.)
So anyway, now I’ve got two school-aged children. I don’t have the words to adequately capture the sweetness and wonder of our lives, but I’m going to try, because I need something to come back and read when I text Matt and inform him that I’ve locked the children in the backyard and will be shoving their dinners through the window. They are all up in each other’s business all the time and yet they cannot bear to be in different rooms, and they whine and tattle and aggravate and provoke and the other day I might have said something like, “Thanks a lot. I’m SICK and you’re making my morning even HARDER and you don’t even CARE.” And then I was like, shut up, Shari, are you seriously trying to guilt trip your children at eight o’clock in the morning?
But also, truly: it is all wonderful. Full of wonder.
On Isaac’s first day of kindergarten, Matt and I walked him to his line at morning assembly. We were allowed to accompany him to class and take a lot of pictures, and then we were gently shooed out the door. Since Isaac had been to kindergarten camp and knew his teacher, he didn’t seem terribly nervous, so I figured Matt and I wouldn’t feel quite so shattered (in the best of ways, really) when we left him there. Still, we did sort of stagger across the parking lot leaning against each other.
For the first week, I walked him into the gym for morning assembly. I walked him over to his line, right next to the fourth and fifth grade classes that are the “big buddies” to the littles. Every day he hugged me and waved cheerfully as I walked away. This week, I dropped him off with his sister out front. How ridiculous is this? I pull up in front of the school and my babies hop out of the car by themselves and walk into the school by themselves and maybe, if I’m lucky, they remember to turn around and wave at me. My little girl, who all of a sudden stands as tall as my shoulder. And my little boy, who suddenly does look so little, so adorably little in his crisp polo shirt and new jeans and giant backpack. I know that he can confidently get milk at lunchtime. I know that he has friends he plays with at recess. His teacher tells me that he’s such a good model, such a “great little guy.” He is a great little guy. Every afternoon I meet him at his classroom door and he is beaming. That is all I need, really and truly. My children, beaming every afternoon. Everything is okay in my world, even when it’s not, when my children are just happy to be.
Suzannah still loves school. My daughter enjoys homework. She wakes up before everyone else in this house just to have quiet reading time in the morning -- well, to be honest, I’m not even convinced that this child has truly slept since she was a fetus, so maybe she stays up all night reading, but what I am telling you is that I tiptoe past her room in the early dawn hours and she is almost always cross-legged on her bed with a book. This afternoon she said to me, “I really love math! It’s not my favorite when it’s too easy, but when it’s a little bit hard, I love that.” Right now she’s working on a writing “assignment,” but it’s turned into a story that fills pages of her composition book. She wakes early enough that she finishes her daily reading log long before we have to leave for school. I write this all down to remember, to fully appreciate the fact that right now my daughter loves learning with her whole being and it’s not a battle I fight with her. I’m so grateful for her very presence in my life. For her awakeness, for her wonder-filled and curious self.
This afternoon we had Isaac’s five-year well-child check-up. We’re a little late, but it actually worked out nicely this way as it’s almost exactly a year since his hospital stay. We’ll have another check-up with the pediatric kidney specialist later this fall, but today our pediatrician checked him over and pronounced him “perfect.” Isaac’s blood pressure was excellent (it was terrifyingly high a year ago when his kidneys decided to stop working properly), and he’s growing terrifically fast. I have a doctor-crush on our pediatrician, sort of like I have a teacher-crush on his kindergarten teacher. Both of these people have been so important in my children’s lives and been so loving and patient both with them and with me. Suzannah more or less ran Isaac’s appointment today; when the doctor walked in she took over. She answered all of his questions about Isaac (what time he goes to bed, what he eats, what he’s learning in school) and then showed him her latest short story. I tried to shush her a bit, but the pediatrician laughed and said, “No, I love this, this is great.” And my heart grew three sizes. For all of it.
And I’m doing well, too. It’s September, which is always golden and lovely, all full of highlighters with sharp tips and new Pilot pens with green ink, all full of students’ earnest writing and notebooks with unbattered corners. My sophomores are the most wonderful, ridiculous people. My juniors will challenge me this year, but I am choosing to think of this as an opportunity. A girl who rolled her eyes at me on the first day laughs easily now, and she doesn’t seem to hate my class. A boy who hated my class in every way possible last year chose to stick it out in my IB literature class, even after his football coach called him and asked, “Are you sure?” Miracles happen. The system might be broken, because systems always are, but luckily I don’t have time to think about systems when I am working with real kids and when I am working alongside real teachers, who are as tired and exhilarated as I am. Right now I am just so deeply thankful that I work in a place I love, with people I love. Morning comes fast, and too soon sometimes, but right now I take my children to school where they thrive and I drive to my own school and feel deeply happy to be there. It matters. It’s enough.
No comments:
Post a Comment