I get nostalgic and a little sad this time of year. I think about all my back to school memories; riding the big yellow bus, the butterflies in my stomach on the first day, insisting on wearing my brand new sweater no matter how sweltering the August afternoon would be, seeing friends, meeting new teachers, the smell of new notebooks and pencils. I think back on these things with general fondness, and yet they are memories that my children don't have.
No, my children go to the same room for school every year and see the same teacher there. And it is the same teacher that they just saw at the breakfast table that morning. There is no yellow bus (although Noah did insist on going out the front door and coming in the back door that opens into the schoolroom on the first day this year). No one cares what they are wearing, only that they have changed out of their pajamas. There is no picking of desks or choosing of teams at recess.
And sometimes I wonder if that is a bad thing.
I wonder if I am making the right decision for my children in their education. I wonder if they are happy or if they just don't know any different.
And I worry...
But then I think of that dear man clad in brown that delivers our packages on our own "Christmas in July".
I think of the excitement and the chaos and the smiles and the smell of newness as we open box after box after box and arrange crisp new workbooks on our shelves.
I think of the priviledge I have of being the one to teach my children and of all the things we learn together.
And I know it is the right thing for us. Even if I don't get to wear my new sweater.
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