*sniffle, sniffle* I'm always sad when our children go back to school. It's like some kind of rite of passage. Even though I've been saying for months, "Ashtyn is a senior," and "Landon is in 9th grade," there's something REAL about it when they actually step foot into the halls of WJHS and JPJMS.
Back in 1991 I walked into an elementary school (to meet with our foster son's teacher), and I came out of that building absolutely heartsick that someday I would have to send my Briana Baby (who was about 4 months old) into a place like that someday. Since then I've sent all four of my babies off to various schools, (Briana lives in Far Away Logan, for heaven's sake!) and I have spent hundreds of hours working and serving in schools, including one I owned, ran, and taught. I know that there are many, many good people who influence our children at school (thank goodness!). But somehow there is still some residual dread about watching our little ones--who aren't so little--take those steps.
One thing, however, that I do not do is GUILT for what we should have done during the summer. That is a luxury I allow myself since I work full time. Bottom line: I don't have time for guilt. On the other hand, this is much easier now that our children are older. If they want to go swimming, for example, they can GO without me. The responsibility for creating marvelous summer memories is not completely mine.
So, the kids have been swimming and camping. They've been to movies and parks. We've been to more reunions than we wanted to attend. We've eaten ice cream and frozen yogurt and slushies and s'mores. We've been to the mountains and to the city. We've barbecued and had hobo dinners. And we've laughed a lot. I'd call this summer a success.
But I still don't want them to go back to school. Does that make me weird?