I have never agreed with the television commercial that touts back to school as the ‘most wonderful time of the year.’
Parents dancing for joy down the aisles of the store, collecting pencils, pens and erasers, for their less-than-excited children isn’t how preparations take place in our home.
Don’t get me wrong, I love school. In fact, my school days in small-town rural Alberta have provided me some of my best memories.
For me, school offered a chance to reconnect and hang out with my friends, usually last seen in June because our respective parents had planned a summer full of farm maintenance projects – and cycling 30 kilometres to hang out with a friend for a couple of hours was not feasible.
I remember the excitement that the smell of paper, pencils, and new vinyl binders triggered. The new pair of acid-washed jeans and Nike hightops were pretty nice too.
But as a mother of two, every year, back to school gets harder.
I enjoy the preparations: shopping trips with my 14-year-old daughter (although shopping with my son, 10, really sucks). Choosing which mechanical pencils to buy and being educated on the in-colour for duotangs and the uncoolness of normal backpacks, is also fun.
Spending the money for cool new shoes or fancy brand-name lunch bags can cause a bit of anxiety, but that’s not what I dislike about this time of the year.
Ever since I became a mom, the first day - and the last - of school has become an emotional ordeal for me.
The morning usually starts out fine. Everyone gets out of bed, excited to find out who their homeroom teacher will be and which friends will be in their class. New clothes are donned, a special breakfast – usually pancakes topped with strawberries and whipped cream – is consumed.
The three of us pile into the car, after a photo session with my kids posing in front of the rose bush in their new outfits, silly grins plastered on their face.
As we start driving, it starts hitting me. My babies are growing up.
Butterflies start dancing in my tummy, I start to sweat and my throat starts swelling with unsuppressed emotion, as I look in the rearview mirror at my kids, looking keen for the school year to start.
I can keep my emotions under control while I stand in line – not too close mind you, and no displays of public affection, because that isn’t cool – at the elementary school for the teachers to come out.
It takes the edge off to witness my kids, shy at first, start warming up to old friends.
But it never fails, after the bell rings and the kids follow their new teacher into the school, the emotion rises to the top.
I can feel that suppressed ball of emotion in my throat rise at the same moment as unshed tears start stinging my eyes. I usually make it back to my car before the tears start.
Why am I weeping? The summer is over and my kids have grown one year closer to leaving home.
This year promises to be a maelstrom of emotion. Why?
My baby goes to high school this year.
Where once a baby demanded my attention, I now see a young lady who doesn’t seem to need me anymore, at least not in the same way.
With just four summers left to spend with my daughter, I have joined the older moms who warned me quickly the time would pass.
At the time, I didn’t believe them, but I do now.
So for those in the same boat as me: hang in there, you won’t be the only ones sitting in the parking lot of Airdrie’s high schools on Sept. 6, crying as your baby skips out of the car with a cheery “bye, I love you, mom” before spying a friend and heading off without a backward glance.
