Sixth and third
I mean, for at least the last month, these boys have been in active resistance of anything related to education. Not just your typical whining and spaghetti legs, which of course there's been plenty of, but they wouldn't even let anyone use the word school. The reaction was everything from covering ears and humming, to making an almost supersonic bleeeep to block out the word.
Some of you couple of readers might consider that this is some sweet quality of their character, that they so enjoyed time with family and romping through the summer sun that they just don't want to let it go.
Yeah, no.
They grieve for their precious screens. And I can not roll my eyes far enough into the back of my head for that one.
It came, it really did. The first day of school and one Mama's open arms await the peace and predictability of routine. How I've missed you. The house looks like someone picked it up, spun it, rolled it, and set it back down. It's time.
Things are different this year, as the boys are no longer in the same school. Not totally sure how this happened, but Trey is starting middle school. We took him on Thursday for orientation and I just wanted to curl up in the fetal position and whimper. Halfway because this is my little man wandering those halls and "Baby Mine" (his lullaby) has been running constantly through my head since then. And halfway because I remember what it felt like to be thrown into a sea of prepubescent wolves.
Anyway, the hundreds (plural) of dollars worth of supplies have been bought and organized and labeled. New backpacks all around, new shoes, new shirts, haircuts, maps, partially healthy lunches, the cage match of early bedtime, the dragging of bleary-eyed cuties from their warm beds before sunrise.
Trey was peppy, all things considered. Aden grunted and moaned until breakfast appeared. Then apparently I dreadfully offended them by claiming my right as their mother to take their pictures on the first day of school. Whoever heard of such a ghastly thing?
"Just...stand on the deck and act like you're happy."
"Trey, I'm not done with you. Come here."
"Aden, that smile looks like you're about to cry."
And so on.
Trey will ride to and from school with Brandon, since they're across the parking lot from each other. Aden will be a car rider on his own, which should make for some great one-on-one time with his Mama and his grandparents. Not really something we've had much of. It will be an interesting change.
The naive Mama in me - you know, that girl who used to love school and thinks her boys care - hopes and prays they will regale us with a verbal feast of first-day stories around the dinner table tonight. The real Mama in me knows I'm in for grunts and one-word answers while they scarf down their food in a hurry to get to evening screen time. Maybe the papers in their backpack will help me put the pieces of their day together.
So here's to sixth and third grades. Go get 'em, boys. Work hard. Stand for Jesus. Know your Mama loves you.
Some of you couple of readers might consider that this is some sweet quality of their character, that they so enjoyed time with family and romping through the summer sun that they just don't want to let it go.
Yeah, no.
They grieve for their precious screens. And I can not roll my eyes far enough into the back of my head for that one.
It came, it really did. The first day of school and one Mama's open arms await the peace and predictability of routine. How I've missed you. The house looks like someone picked it up, spun it, rolled it, and set it back down. It's time.
Things are different this year, as the boys are no longer in the same school. Not totally sure how this happened, but Trey is starting middle school. We took him on Thursday for orientation and I just wanted to curl up in the fetal position and whimper. Halfway because this is my little man wandering those halls and "Baby Mine" (his lullaby) has been running constantly through my head since then. And halfway because I remember what it felt like to be thrown into a sea of prepubescent wolves.
Anyway, the hundreds (plural) of dollars worth of supplies have been bought and organized and labeled. New backpacks all around, new shoes, new shirts, haircuts, maps, partially healthy lunches, the cage match of early bedtime, the dragging of bleary-eyed cuties from their warm beds before sunrise.
Trey was peppy, all things considered. Aden grunted and moaned until breakfast appeared. Then apparently I dreadfully offended them by claiming my right as their mother to take their pictures on the first day of school. Whoever heard of such a ghastly thing?
"Just...stand on the deck and act like you're happy."
"Trey, I'm not done with you. Come here."
"Aden, that smile looks like you're about to cry."
And so on.
Trey will ride to and from school with Brandon, since they're across the parking lot from each other. Aden will be a car rider on his own, which should make for some great one-on-one time with his Mama and his grandparents. Not really something we've had much of. It will be an interesting change.
The naive Mama in me - you know, that girl who used to love school and thinks her boys care - hopes and prays they will regale us with a verbal feast of first-day stories around the dinner table tonight. The real Mama in me knows I'm in for grunts and one-word answers while they scarf down their food in a hurry to get to evening screen time. Maybe the papers in their backpack will help me put the pieces of their day together.
So here's to sixth and third grades. Go get 'em, boys. Work hard. Stand for Jesus. Know your Mama loves you.
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