where did the summer go?

7:45 AM-- We close our car doors and the kids heft their heavy, overloaded backpacks onto their shoulders. The packs are full of newly sharpened pencils, reams of crisp white paper, folders with sharp corners. Their faces show their mixed feelings about this day: there's a sparkle in their eyes that hints at the excitement they're reluctant to tell about, a nervousness in the smile of my girl. My 6th grade son is working hard to maintain the scowl he's had since I woke him this morning. But his pace is brisk, purposeful. They tolerate the annual photo taken in front of the school's marquee sign to record this day, to chart their growth as they pass from grade to grade. This will be the last picture I take of my son in front of this sign, so I am happy to see that the scowl is not as pronounced, and looks kind of like a smile. Through the viewfinder, anyway.



Once the photo has been taken, my son once again walks quickly ahead of us, and we hurry to follow him, so that we can say goodbye. And good luck. And have a great day. And I love you. And we'll see you this afternoon. One more photo beside the welcome back sign on the door, and then he's gone. He'll emerge again this afternoon, more tired, less purposeful, happy that he's free again. Until tomorrow. But we won't be there to record the second day for the photo albums, much to his relief.



It's my daughter's turn to lead us to her door. Her turn to pose for a picture, to say goodbye. But she's not ready to go in alone. I walk her to her seat, and help her take out the brand new supplies and put them in her desk. She hangs her empty backpack on her chair, pulls it out and sits down. Her class has 3 pets, and her teacher is nice. She gives me permission to leave, but I do get a hug and a kiss first. She is ready to be a 3rd grader.



Back at home, my two high-schoolers are laughing, joking, getting ready to leave for the bus stop. The younger of the two is beginning his Freshman year, much to the delight and dismay of his Junior brother. They haven't been in school together for years, and will now share the same bus, lunch period, campus. I know my son would be fine on his own, but take comfort that his big brother will be there if he needs him.



Now it's time to leave, to catch the big yellow bus, but the boys know that even though there's not a sign to pose in front of, I will still mark the occassion with a photo. Their smiles are big, that much I can see, even through the viewfinder. My older son is happy; he's an Upperclassman. His smile is confident, his eyes are shining. My younger son smiles a rare, wide smile. His teeth are showing, the sun glistens off his braces. Most of the pictures I have of him from the past 2 years show him with a tight, closed-lip smile, hiding the metal that is guiding his teeth into straight,white lines. He is having fun, but I know he is nervous. After the photos are snapped, he follows his brother down the driveway, still laughing and joking. I hear their voices trail off as they round the corner, and I shout to their retreating backs. Have a good day! I'll see you this afternoon! I love you! And then they're gone, too.



I walk back into the house, which is much quieter now. For the past three months, it has been filled with the sounds of electric and bass guitars, keyboards, stereos, TVs, video games, teenagers, children. But now the sound of the air conditioner pumping cool air through the vents sounds louder than ever. The hot Florida sun doesn't know that summer's over. I pour a cup of coffee, sit down to read the paper before I head off to work. I am wishing I had taken the day off, to enjoy the silence. I could have spent time working on my scrapbooks, maybe finding the photos from the other first days. There have been 12 of them, and there is only going to be one more for my oldest son before he goes off to college. I will be there when he goes, looking through the viewfinder, recording another kind of first in our lives. But this afternoon, they will all come home, and they will share their stories of new teachers, new classrooms, new friends, new things they have already learned. They will have conquered their first day, and I will serve them cake, and listen to them talk, and I will be so proud of them.

This is a bittersweet day. This is the first day of school.

limping along in his mother's footsteps

I believe it all started when I was 10, and I took a backward tumble off a swing in a Denver park. I landed on my foot, breaking a toe. Over the years, my poor feet have suffered multiple contusions, a pounding from a concrete pole, and a broken pinky toe just a couple of years ago.

I now pass the torch.

Poor Nick was helping his friend build a dock when a 200+ lb. piling rolled onto his big toe, shattering the bone. These crutches will be his new appendages for the next couple of weeks. On the upside, he has some new nicknames: Crutchy and Hoppy. Imagine his joy.

not a baby anymore

My only little girl turned 8 on 8/8. She found this to be incredibly exciting. And since she's the baby of the family, I joined in her incredible excitement. It keeps me young. In honor of her special day, a tribute:

8 Words That Describe Brooklyn~

~Silly

~Sweet

~Cuddly

~Cute

~Loving

~Smart

~Helpful

~God's Girl

Happy Birthday, Brookadoo!

starting my very own buh-log

I remember when gabbing with girlfriends meant being tethered to the wall by a twisty cord that was so stretched out, it pooled on the floor under the phone when it was hung up. When I was a teenager, it wasn't hung up often. I have great sympathy for my mom during those years, now that I have teens of my own. It's not the phone they commandeer, though, but our family computer. They spend a lot of time in front of the glowing screen, gabbing with their own friends through MySpace and FaceBook. So, I've decided to jump on board, and start a blog. Or buh-log, as my kids accuse me of saying.

I don't promise to post every day, or even every other day, but enough to give my friends and family a little glimpse of what our gang has been up to. I may even include a photo now and then. It all depends on how much time I can sneak in online. Come to think of it, I may just go back to using the phone.

Welcome to my buh-log.