We are at T minus zero around these parts, as high school officially begins first thing tomorrow.
This morning was supposed to be our dress rehearsal, but, well, let's just hope it was not indicative of what a typical school morning will be like. Needless to say, our practice run fell into tardy-on-the-first-day territory, and who wants to be that kid. We've reestablished that a certain young man is not a morning person, a trait I must admit he got from me.
We're rusty, that's all. Or so I've been telling myself all day. We'll find our groove, or some version of it, soon enough. The end result was an early morning breakfast out with the boy, and who can complain about that.
Kiddo seems (tentatively) okay with all this. The new school in the new neighborhood in the new town. I'd like to think I did my job well. That Husband and I raised a hearty yet flexible human being who sees opportunity as opposed to obstacle.
All stereotypes aside, and lingering hangups tucked away, high school is a pretty marvelous place. It's not always comfortable, sure, but it's the place where a person comes into their own for the first time. Where you decide what kind of person you want to be and what kind of people you want to surround yourself with.
Was I popular or athletic or an honor student? Nope. But I realize now that I had the option to be any of those things, should I have chosen to. My job as a parent is to help him realized the potential; his potential. To (gently) guide him. To be the person I wish I'd had in my corner.
Though, I think I turned out okay in the end. If only it hadn't taken so long to get here.
After cross country practice this morning, we did another dry run of his class schedule and he aced it. He'll be fine. And though I'll probably hold my breath a little tomorrow, I know this is just another season we must adapt to.
In much the same way as I pull on a sweater to cope with the cooler fall evenings, I'll adjust to the feel of my evolving role as a mother.
The last few days have been unintentionally quiet. The television hasn't turned on. Instead we've favored reading, time spent with friends, and leisurely tasks that have served to put the finishing touches on our new home.
We have tucked inside ourselves a little, pensive, in the calm days leading up to our new normal. Sometimes you just crave a little peace and quiet. It has been nice.
We are still a single television home, and comfortably so for now, so our living room has become more of a sitting room. A quiet place to ponder or blog or read. Over the weekend Mario and I tackled the last of the projects, and we are rather smitten with the space. I'm not sure we've ever had a room like it, to be honest.
Last night I set up my recently purchased record player and dug out my few LPs, and before I knew it Kiddo and I fell into an easy coexistence, narrated by classic Disney stories. I felt sophisticated and calm and so pleased to have a child who can enjoy life in the absence of electronic diversions.
Last week I used that small window each morning, while Jared was at cross country practice, to settle into a nearby coffee shop and learn Lightroom. Finally! And also to remind myself how much I like to blog. To write. To think on paper. I haven't always been very good at making time for these things; for taking advantage of these easily ignored opportunities.
There were no picnics on the beach, or other traditional Labor Day festivities. But there was time spent together, and with friends. We ventured out to Beaverton, Oregon one afternoon and came upon Tualatin Hills Nature Park. I laced up my running shoes, smartly stowed in my trunk, and ventured through the trails with the boys. It felt good to move and get my blood pumping: it served as a reminder of how much my body misses being active.
He can run like the wind, that boy of mine.
There was post-exercise sorbet, of course. While still in my running shoes.
On the way home I came across my dream home. It is precisely the place I want to live when I grow up.
There was the discovery of a local park, just minutes from our house. And those trees, straight out of Whoville, have quickly become one of my favorite things about the Pacific Northwest. (Though their name still eludes me.)
There was also our first real rain since living here. We sat on our front porch and drank our morning coffee to the sound of raindrops softly falling. We'd begun to think that Portland's reputation for being rainy was just a silly rumor.
And that is life as of late. Some firsts, and a few yet to be experienced.
Good night. For in the morning, I shall be known as the mother of a high schooler.