"Summer's almost over" has been the back drop for everything I've done or thought this week. Summer's end, marked, for as long as I have memory, by the first day of school, looms before us, coming a day closer with every sunrise.
There's a bright yellow sign in the periphery of my mind. It's flashing and warning: CAUTION: BIG CHANGES AHEAD. Brock, last child of my womb, is a senior in high school. Moise is going to a new school, one which presents much newness and uncertainty. A fact which guarantees a few bumps in the road. Kruz, my baby, child of heart healing, is going to school. Another bumpy guarantee.
And my heart? It's working to prepare itself. I remind myself, like a broken record (does anyone remember what a broken record sounds like?) that change is good, that Moise and Kruz will be fine. No problem. God's got this.
Meanwhile, we're sucking every last drop of fun from this summer.
We snuck in one last camping trip with friends. I've always thought of camping as something that we did for our kids. With kids it's a lot of work for mom and dad but they loved it so much and so many memories were made at the campground. Now, with Kruz being the only little camper, we're finding that it's not work at all. I find myself asking "what's wrong? Why is the refrigerator not stuffed full? Why are we not dragging umpteen bags around? Why is the door not slamming eleventy hundred times? Why are we actually getting to sit on our big ol' Bass Pro camping chairs? It's marvelous and bittersweet. While we enjoy the quiet, we miss telling Grant to "quit messing with the fire." I miss squirting blobs of shampoo on four little heads and telling them to head for the shower. I'm certain we'll adapt to these camping changes quite nicely. While the memories are the sweetest, I'm certainly not opposed to making memories of a different kind.
Baby doll gets drug all over the place, typically by the arm. She is going to need many baths in her lifetime. Here's to hoping her stuffed body can withstand the many washings. I have my doubts.
I've had the pleasure of spending extra time with my sweet nieces this summer. When they're around, the place rings with the sweet sound of little girl voices once again. Although this summer's temperatures, by comparison, have been mild, we've sought water every chance we could.
It's been several years since Moise has been in need of the typical back to school supplies but this year found us venturing back into the school supply aisles with Kruz's list in hand. It was euphoric. There's so much color and excitement in those aisles. I opened a box of crayons and wanted to cry over the sheer perfection and organization nestled inside that yellow and green box. I hope Crayola never feels a need to change their box.
I grabbed a box of markers and marveled over the reality that standard, primary colors are hard to come by. What happened to red, green, yellow and blue? But then there they were, all of the primary colors carefully molded and unblemished in the oval slots of the water color paints. Kruz didn't need a pencil bag but I grabbed a plastic one anyway, just to sniff it. It smelled so schooly. My mind took me back to my own school days and my annual resolve to be more organized. I always knew, as I sat with all my crisp new school supplies spread out around me, that I would be less messy. I carefully penned my name... Karol Glueck.... as if there were a hundred other "Karol's" in my classroom, onto every item and determined that I wouldn't doodle on all my notebooks this year. It was a resolve that lasted all of two days.
Then I came upon the "Trapper Keeper." In our house, the excitement over being old enough to need a "trapper," was nearly palpable. Our children searched those aisles painstakingly for just the right one. And once we found the right one? The
scritch of velcro being opened was all we heard for days, until they finally boarded the bus, trapper in hand and the world by the tail. The trapper was a right of passage into middle school.
The quest for a backpack was an interesting one. Kruz is not big. At three years old, he measures on the growth chart of an eighteen month old. Backpacks, apparently, are not typically made for eighteen month old. I went store to store, my euphoria quickly morphing into irritation over the size of backpacks.
"Why are they all so huge?!?!?! Don't they know that there are little kids in the world who need a backpack?!?!?" School supply shopping is only fun when you find what you need. A standard child sized pack nearly drug the ground and knocked him flat on his rear. I finally found one that was a bit smaller, and in primary colors too. But once I put it on him, this too seemed like a great big backpack fail.
Perhaps more concerning, even than the size of the bag, was Kruz's lack of interest in the bag itself. He was far more interested in the straps. This is going to be a problem. Straps are one of his quirky obsessions, which in many situations is a beautiful thing. Waiting endlessly at a doctor's office? No worries, we've got this. Just hand the boy a purse strap. But in school this distraction will need to be reckoned with. Bring out the strap eliminators!!!! He'll find straps in places they never knew existed.
But Grandma G saved the backpack day. Exit primary color, strappy, too big backpack. Enter Spider Man. It's just the right size. It doesn't pull him over. And there are no straps. Oh......and it's Spider Man. Enough said.
Come Wednesday morning, ready or not, I'll be sending three boys off to school. Bring on the changes.
Until then, we've a few more mornings of long snuggles and we're not missing out on a single one.
Happy back to school days.
God is good, all the time.
