It’s been three days since I
accepted was granted ‘full custody’ of my older boy-children.
The year ended in a flurry of volunteering and assemblies and so.much.soccer that I just tried to ride the wave of insanity with the hopes that we’d somehow get past the finish line wearing [possibly dirty, possibly not our own] clothes. On the second-to-last day of school, I lay semi-comatose in my bed while the Gort parceled out cereal for his brothers and packed lunches. Or tried to.
‘We don’t have any bread for sandwiches,’ he delivered the variation-on-a-theme’s daily news. ‘So you need to go to Sunterra and drop off sandwiches for us at school.’
And by the last day of school there was nothing but fruit for lunch and I had to dispatch the professor to drive to Starbucks and pick up two of their bistro boxes. Along with one more gift card for a teacher I’d forgotten to thank.
June 26, 2014
In the four previous years, I have not (as far as my increasingly worm-like brain can recall) documented the end of school. But this year, courtesy of Facebook and American friends’ first/last day posts at the end of the year, (which was weeks ago!) I felt compelled to step outside and snap a photo. Really, I’d wanted them to wear the same clothes they’d worn on that first day but that would have required some night-before planning ahead which is not part of my skillset at the best of times, and certainly not at the end of the year.
Also, I should point out, that the Hen’s pictured shoes no longer fit him, the shirt barely does and I can only guess the jeans got two giant holes in the knees and were dispatched to my storage locker in the basement full of jeans-with-holes which I fully intend to utilize ‘some day’.
September 3, 2013
With that particular click of the camera’s shutter, almost-ten months of our lives had passed.
The Gort is double digits and off to a different school next year. Which, at the least sentimental level, means we will no longer be able to mumble goodbye from the comfort of our beds or the kitchen (on the days we were slightly more on top of it). No, someone is actually going to have to leave the house by 7:45am next year, to take our oldest blond-wonder to a school – where neither of his brothers will be.
The Hen is entering his third year of school and Percy, who was born on the day the Gort started Kindergarten, is going to Kindergarten (if I let him). Underscoring the fact that five years of some of the longest days of my life passed all too quickly. It doesn’t seem possible that my baby is capable of going to ‘big’ school but when I hear him tell his middle brother’s friend how to play Minecraft, or show his oldest brother how to open the sunroof in the van, I have to concede that he is, most likely, capable.
But that doesn’t mean I won’t change my mind and keep him home another year.
The only upside to the end of all things school and the prospect of 68 days of all-family-all-the-time is that the boys bring home all the writing they did over the course of the year. And I get to read it.
This year the students in grade 4 had all, apparently, filled out a ‘Reader Profile’ which detailed their interests. The ever-earnest and precise Gort did not fail to entertain.
What part of the world interests me the most: ‘The USA interests me most’
‘The technology I like to use is mobile devices’
What do I plan to do after high school: ‘I plan to become a sciencetest’
How do you decide what book to read? ‘I look inside for a few seconds and look at the type’
List two things that really matter to you: My family, my life
Even the Hen got in on the action, recounting in his journal the day I got my smartphone: ‘My mom got a new phone yesterday. She can design pictures on her phone but she does not know how to call people. She asked how to call people!’ Lest you think he is a 6 year old writing-genius, this was his literal depiction: ‘my mom got a new pone yesterday. She can dasan picsher on her poane but she does not no how to call people. she asked how to call people!
Still, pretty good for a 6 year old. In my defense, I knew how to make a phone call (mostly), but the phone was not working correctly and I had to take it back to the store.