It’s not quite as bad as last year. Sure there is screaming and gnashing of teeth. (Okay, mostly mine.) And there are little people who refuse to go to sleep at bedtime, thereby making it much harder to wake them up in the early reverie. And there are some wardrobe malfunctions. Shoes that fit three days ago at the store will not find their way onto feet that need to walk out the door in five minutes. And there are routines to re-establish. Lunches are packed and clothes laid out the night before amid a lot of whining and griping.
But really, it’s not quite as bad as last year.
This is the time of year that tries a mother’s patience. Add to that the fact that I am a teacher AND a mother, and I have my own lunch to pack and clothes to lay out, and things can get really harried.
But they are growing up, I think. The middle guy’s in kindergarten, and happy as a clam to be going to school all day, walking to and fro with his big sis. She, for her part, has made it “upstairs” as a second grader, and seems able to handle the homework planner and guiding her brother to and from school. Even the baby, a misnomer if I ever heard one, is getting his act together for pre-school and excited about his Spider Man book bag and new friend Isaac.
We still have occasional screaming and tantrum-throwing, lost forms and lost patience, but the transition is as good as can be expected.
I think the patient will survive this crisis.
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