Shingles pain has sapped my strength. Energy sizzles like a fly on a bug zapper. It is a big deal to go buy school supplies, a ritual I don't enjoy since it doesn't come with the smells of oilcloth and clay of my childhood. I'm a slacker mom to the max who procrastinates as long as I can with "The List." Every item checked off is a surrender to ritual and order of a school schedule that looms. My rebellious spirit wants to deny them the extra box of Kleenex and bottle of hand sanitizer: take that you class of cold germs! Fortunately, his older brother isn't off to school, yet. His orientation can't be missed though because it is his freshman year of high school. At least I can put that out of my mind, for another week.
I did do the big clean and sort where tonnage of baggage of too-small of clothes was removed by a front-loader and hauled away for donations; well, the mess got hauled out to the garage if you want to get technical with me. Growing boys shed more skin than snakes or shells than hermit crabs or T-shirts than a car wash has rags. If a boy wears uniforms to school, why does he still have so many clothes?...because his older brother outgrows them, and hand-me-downs multiply faster than dust bunnies under my couch.
I've never cried when my children went off to school. But I might this year. Summer was too short. I blinked, and it was gone. I want more time with Puff the Magic Dragon. Instead, they got their marching orders, and I feel like I am sending them off to war. It's hard to let boys become men when you are in love with Peter Pan and want to fly to Neverland.