Tomorrow is my baby boy’s first day of school in a new school in this new city in this new state. And I’m freaked out.
He’s 13 and he seems pretty unconcerned about school supplies and the dress code and about finding his way from class to class. And I’m worried.
And why in the world are they starting on August 15? It’s still summertime in my head. It will be summertime in my head until Labor Day.
My baby boy won’t stop growing too fast and it makes me feel like I’m running after a bus which hasn’t noticed that I’m trying to get its attention. (Did you ever miss a bus because you were just thirty seconds too late?)
I bought school supplies–random ones, because I had no supply list and also because I discovered I had twenty-four boxes of crayons when I was packing up and moving here–and managed to not buy any pencils (Ticonderogas only, please) because I thought I had boxes of them. Which I probably do, but where? Where are you, Pencils? And why weren’t they on sale at Costco, as usual?
I did find two stray pencils which I tucked into his notebook.
The rest of the kids–75% of my kids–are not going to school tomorrow. They are all going to be doing school at home–the twins have one last year of homeschool and Grace is enrolled at a charter school which allows her to do school at home four days a week. (They’ll all start in a week.)
So, it’s not like I”ll be lonely. Or free.
But I’m full of anxiety about my baby boy’s first day of eighth grade in this strange land of palm trees and ocean breezes.
And now I’m going to make his lunch because I am most certainly not about to pay $5.25 per school lunch.