The New School Year

This week and last many of my friends have covered my Facebook feed with pictures of their children, classroom, and themselves as they prepare for the first day of school. At 28 years old, this is the first year since I was in preschool that I haven't had the pleasure of taking a first day photo.

This week while children are opening brand new boxes of 24 count crayons and having the satisfaction of using the perfectly sharpened edge; I'll crawl across the floor and pick up broken crayons probably a good 24 times. I'll kiss my husband goodbye, peak out the window, and pray I might hear another adult voice before 5:30 rolls around.

Being a parent is a beautiful thing. I love it. I know that I am blessed to have my children. Being a working mom is hard, I would leave early in the morning before my kids woke up, spend all day chasing the children of other women around, and return home exhausted only to see my own children for a few short hours before putting them back in bed. Being a stay at home mom (as I'm learning) is hard. It can be lonely.

When working, I would fight the urge each morning to sneak into my daughters' room and kiss them goodbye so as not to wake them up. I would arrive at work, greet my coworkers, check emails, and prepare to greet 24 students for the day. Throughout the day I would share a few words with other teachers as our classes passed in the halls. I would be welcomed with a smile by the lunch ladies, as they asked how my day was going.  During lunch I would share funny stories and difficult moments with the teachers on my team and feel their support. Upon entering the office, I would have a quick conversation with the school secretary as we compared stories of our children who were the same age. After school, I would talk to parents for a few minutes about the weather, their children, and upcoming school events. At the end of the day the janitor would come to take out the trash and we would have a few minutes to shoot the breeze. And all the while, in the quiet moments of the day I would miss my kids.

Now that I'm home when Daniel leaves, it's just me and the girls. On the really hard days I call him five or six times at work just to hear his voice. Sometimes I feel trapped, this way too small apartment  is my prison. I begin to feel sorry for myself, I feel angry, abandoned. Then a little hand places a broken crayon in my hand and says "Color with me?" And the loneliness melts away. I'm finally home with my girls, and while I get excited  when the phone rings and I get to speak with another adult, I'm blessed to be exactly where I am. Next year, I know I'll be taking a first day photo again, and tears will roll down my cheeks as my oldest child leaves me on her first day of school.