Whew. I just cried in our new kitchen, scurrying about to get clothes cleaned and lunches made and backpacks packed for the boys’ first day in their new schools tomorrow.
At dinner, mostly to ease my own fears and anxieties, I was chatting with/lecturing the boys about kindness, the importance of curiosity and boundaries, how their worth is not reflected in the way others see them but in how they see themselves, how they can do hard things and nothing is impossible, yada yada yada.
Kenson, the empath of the group, turned to me and said “Mom, we know, you say this all the time. We know we can do hard things. And no matter what happens in school, that’s why we have brothers, and each other.” Student - master. Noted.
They’re ready. They’re fine. They’re confident. They’re cool. They’re in the right place for them, with kids like them, a school that doesn’t use air quotes when talking about dyslexia, and a letter home tonight reminding parents to send kids with snow pants if they want to play in the snow at recess.
I cried because this is the end. Our great adventure around the world is over. Now we set alarm clocks and stay in one place and fall back in line with everyone else, ants marching. Or maybe, we start again, full of courage and bravery and perspective and memories and strength and faith and grace.
So off they/we go tomorrow, to start something new.
I’ll cry in my coffee, and they’ll be home before I know it.