This month, the “good” schools in town are drawing their lottery winners (winners? ugh) They have few spots and many names in the pool, and I imagine some highly-empowered office assistant pulls papers from a file and they right down the names. And then the letters go out to the families of kids who were drawn. We have N’s name in two school drawings here and on an open enrollment list in the next town over. It’s all a little nauseating for about a million reasons.
What happened to the days of just assuming your kids would walk down the block to the neighborhood school and get a good education? I won’t even get started on what the “good education” has come to. That’s another blog, another three hours on my soap box…
But I am acutely aware that N will be going to school next year. Not cozy, homey Pre-K with a family of friends who learn through Legos and math games. Not a three-hour program where I know the teacher so well I can be sure to hang around and find out exactly how his days are going, who he’s playing with, what he’s doing. N is going to leave our security and go to actual school next year. Hopefully the one I want him to get into, of course, but either way he’s going somewhere.
As I may have noted before, I despise change. I didn’t even like moving the utensil carousel to the other side of the counter to make room for a new coffee machine at Christmas. And yet, these damn changes keep coming! It turns out I can’t actually keep my children little and home with me for eternity. They have that weird way of growing up. N tells me, “I can’t help it, it’s just how bodies work!”
And so it is. But it doesn’t stop me from looking at him on a Tuesday morning at the swimming pool and thinking, we won’t be doing this next year because he’ll be at kindergarten. I know I’m incredibly lucky because so many moms don’t get to just hang out with their kids until they enter public school, but since I do get to, I’m trying my best not to take a day of this last hang-out year for granted.