The first day of school always hits a little differently. This morning, I watched my five-year-old pedal off to his very first day of kindergarten, weaving through the back-to-school chaos with a confidence that honestly puts my parallel parking to shame. He remembered all the traffic safety rules—yes, even the one about looking both ways twice. He was ready. Me? Not so much.
Meanwhile, my almost eight-year-old—grade three already—shrugged off my lingering gaze as he lined up with the other kids, hands shoved in his pockets, looking so much older than he has any right to. It’s wild how a backpack and a little swagger can suddenly make your kid look like he’s ready to file taxes. And yes, I cried.
There were tears, and a lot of them. A few other factors might be in play this week as well, F%$& hormones, so that’s been nice.
I couldn’t help but remember when my now-third-grader would press his face to the daycare window every morning, refusing to budge until my car disappeared. Why are the days impossibly long—packed with snacks, spills, and negotiations over sock choices—while the years speed by in a blink. Parenthood is cruel like that. No advice here, just solidarity. If you’re feeling all the feelings this week—excitement, panic, nostalgia, and maybe a dash of relief—you’re not alone, or at least I hope I’m not alone. The kids are off to class, and I’ll be here, reminiscing (and maybe crying a little more) until the bell rings again.
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