The end is here

Readers, it is with utter joy that I tell you that the kids are asleep, and T and I have had celebratory compost dinner salads (I know, don't we sound positively wild?!) in honor of the last night of summer. School is here. I'm singing that both out loud and in my head with the vigor a northern northerner might declare, "Spring has sprung!"

The first day of school is such an exciting one. New supplies, seeing friends you've missed over the summer, meeting your teachers, checking out your classroom. The opportunities feel endless. At least, this should be the case. It's tragic how many kids go to mediocre or just plain bad schools; those that are underfunded, lacking in community, poorly led and weakly taught. But I digress: that's another story for another time.

My boys are so lucky to attend such an excellent school. For them, the opportunities really are endless, and so although I am off-my-head excited about them returning because I'm kinda sick of them being home all day every day and we ALL need to get back to normalcy and routines, I'm also full of enthusiastic anticipation about all they'll learn and discover this year.

In so many ways, I was a late bloomer. Though always a good student, I didn't learn to really learn until the second half of college. My large public high school was a decidedly average one: a few great teachers but for the most part, I came away with a strong ability to memorize (which will only get you so far, which is not terribly far), solid writing skills (thank you, Mrs. Wyche) and a serious inability to truly synthesize and analyze information. As such, learning, as opposed to grades, didn't much excite me until I got it. When I started studying religion (I majored in Religious Studies, minored in Euro History), I realized how thrilling an intellectual pursuit could be. It is one of my most serious regrets that I didn't find all this out until nearly two years through Northwestern. What wasted time and chances, though really, the extreme partying I did freshman year was a real rite of passage for me too. It had to be done, and damn if I didn't do it like any good Type-A goal-oriented gal would. A+ for me.

The kids are getting all this much earlier I think. Their curiosity and imaginations seem to know no bounds, and so they suck the marrow from school pretty much every day. I attribute a lot of this to their having been blessed with amazing teachers who praise curiosity, who teach them how to seek and discover, who show them how much fun learning is. I have been inspired to be a better parent more times than I can count by their teachers and know how lucky I am to be able to say that.

I always cringe when people come up to the boys and say, "aren't you glad school's almost out for the year?" or "you must be so sad that summer's over and you're heading back to school." Neither thought has ever crossed their minds, and I hate to think of such inklings being introduced. They love school because it is fun. It's exciting. They have tons of recess and play time but also huge amounts of real, active, hands-on, engaged learning.

And so I will bring them tomorrow, walk each sweetie in, and almost dance away after goodbyes, not only because it's seriously time but also because wow, school rocks!

Last night's fajitas, the 100 year flood...from my closet

Y'all, I am sore as get out today. My upper back feels like a finely delineated landscape of stiffly tender peaks and mesas. I think it was the spontaneous till-and-toss through the compost pile I jumped into yesterday when I found my pitchfork. I've neglected my pit, and roots had taken hold and spread, deep in the pile, tethering it firmly to the earth below. I dislodged about four pounds of roots, picked out and discarded the identifying labels -"94025" Hass, for example; (I'm always too lazy to peel them off out the outset)- that had come unstuck from now decaying avocado skins, orange peels and so forth, and tidied up the border around the whole thing. It felt extremely productive, but then I went to the gym, and now I'm just tight, like a board. T made the greatest marinade for the chicken last night, and our fajitas were scrumptious. Lime, arbol chiles, freshly ground cumin, salt, a dash of soy...Perfect. I'd also bought some extremely cool red-yellow corn so made a salad with that. After a lovely dinner, I actually read about 50% of the Sunday paper which was positively dreamy and then called it a day.

This morning I awoke with a burr in my butt to clean my closet, an onerous, 100 years kind of task that I've put off for oh, about a year now. 20% of the way in, I was psyched. Now 50% done, I'm dragging and have managed to clear but eight square inches on my bed. I'm wedged and perched in that little spot, looking with some dismay at the flood of hangers and clothing still to be rehung or tossed.

Know what? School starts tomorrow- officially less than 24 hours from now. Who's excited? This girl!! And the boys too! Oliver is primarily excited about his new backpack which is kinda funny, and Jack about being a 2nd grader.

2nd grade seems very big and grown up to me. I remember 2nd grade clearly. Ms. Gay Aday was my teacher (it always killed me that her name rhymed), there were two "mean girls" in my class, Janie Hays and I loved to play kiss chase with Charles Fenet (who we called Chopsticks Fenooty even though we had big crushes on him) at recess, and I still hadn't cut my hair like Mary Lou Retton (a horrible decision I'd make in 3rd grade). As Jack has already cut his own hair, perhaps we can cross that experience from the list.

Funny aside, when J cut his hair earlier this summer, I suggested that it looked vaguely serial killer'ish. Though it didn't occur to me then, of course he didn't know (thank god) what a serial killer was. He later told my mom that "Mom is so silly because she said I looked like a cereal killer. Like I kill Raisin Bran or Puffins. HAH!" Isn't that priceless?! I've never corrected him.

Feel like I reinvented the wheel

Truly, I do. I made a basil-pecan pesto that was so good I thought I'd cry. I wanted to cry. Tom considered two tears. We licked the food processor bowl clean, and thus, I have no photo for you. But I bought a ludicrous amount of basil today (because I'm that gal who can't grow it; I do have a mostly sunless yard, which is definitely my [valid] defense) so plan to make a huge batch tomorrow and will then post my exact proportions in case you're interested. Which you should be. Like SO intrigued, stalking my recipes-page interested. It's that good.

Presently, we are grilling a pizza, and I am giving thanks that this day is done. It was not the easiest, but probably that is no surprise at this point. We are literally hanging by our thumbs until next Tuesday. And you know what, I know that's part of it, this raising children, raising a family. The tough times can really blow, but often I believe (hope?) that they're where the intrafamilial lines of growth and connection are solidified and made even more substantial. Sometimes I get so mired in the moment. I get scared, like "really? can I do this for one more day?" But then I step back a bit and think, "Em, that's what life is all about." It's about the gems in the moments, in the days, the weeks; it's picking out and appreciating those crystallizations of good and happy and holding them in higher esteem than their lesser molecules.

Yesterday, I spent a while with a friend of mine, a stay-at-home-mom I love and admire and respect; for that and so much more. I truly enjoy being her friend, I feel happy about it each time I see her. And she and I yesterday, we were like "this effing sucks." And it really does sometimes. And we're dying for school to start. And so many other women are waxing rhapsodic about the glory of summer and how fabulous it is to have no schedule and just hang with their kids. And my friend and I wonder, guiltily, about what we are doing wrong. WHAT are we missing? Are we missing a thing?

And that's the rub. We aren't missing a damn thing. As her oldest daughter climbed into her lap, and my boys smothered me with kisses and "watch me," I was reminded that we are just doing what we can. We are there. All the time. I myself find it easier to be totally frank about how hard this all is, how much of our own selves are sometimes/often subsumed by this hat of motherhood. But I get that others are too terrified to admit that OR they're just truly happy in their maternal role. And again, that's what life is really about.

Being true to yourself, as best you can. Whether that makes others comforted or uncomfortable, gains or loses you popularity or respect, your life is your own. And if you're as true to you and it as you can be, then hat's off. And if you're feeling like my friend and I are a lot these days, good luck until your first day, whenever that may be.