first day of school.

At 7:30 on this wet, gray morning in August, I climb in the car, pull out of our borrowed-for-the-month neighborhood, and find myself swept up in a flood of traffic.

Today is the first day of school—at least for those in Irmo, South Carolina.  My seven-minute drive to Panera takes twenty-five as I inch my way, with hundreds of other cars, past three schools: Irmo Elementary, Crossroads Middle, and Irmo High.

I don’t mind the delay though.  I love the start of a new school year.  I love school supplies and colorful backpacks and reuniting with friends and the thrill of new textbooks and figuring out the semester’s class schedule.  I love all the mini-vans and SUV’s plastered with Irmo bumper stickers, merging into the endless drop-off line, knowing they are filled with kids sporting combed hair and carefully-chosen outfits and maybe a few butterflies over the unknowns of new teachers and classmates.  I love imagining this generation of students who are just starting to use iPads in the classroom, wondering how their learning experience is different from my own.  I love listening to my teacher-friends gush this month about decorating their classrooms and stocking up on new art supplies and story books.

I love sitting in Panera surrounded by the excited chatter of moms as they celebrate the victory of depositing children into a new school year.

Their work is done.  And, it’s also just beginning, as now come the relentless afternoon pick-ups, homework assignments, tangle of papers to sign, football practice and ballet recitals and parent-teacher meetings that will take them all the way until next June.

But all that will come in its proper time.  This morning they make time to sit with girlfriends and steaming cups of coffee and apple crumble muffins and mark another milestone in the grand journey of parenthood.

A new beginning.  So many possibilities.

I don’t mind saying I’m not really a “baby person.”  I mean, I enjoy cuddling other people’s babies, and obviously I love my children no matter what age they are, but I’ve found that for me, those sleep-deprived baby years pale in comparison to the older-toddler years, in which my kids and I can now suddenly talk things out, play make-believe, laugh at the same jokes, and, more and more, process life together.  I’ve always looked forward to the day they each start school—both because I’m excited for them to experience this new world, and because, frankly, I’m excited for the break.

But this morning, I realize, with some surprise, that I’m happy my children aren’t among the throngs sitting brightly in their first period class.  I’m happy they’re spending the morning tucked cozily out of the rain with their daddy, while I get a few hours all to myself.  I’m happy that after my “morning out” is over, I’ll drive back to them, and will be ambushed at the car door with cries of “Mommy!  I missed you so much!” and vigorous hugs, and non-stop requests until they go to bed of, “Mommy, will you play princesses with me?,” Mommy, will you get me a snack?,”  “Mommy, will you take me to the potty?,”  “Mommy, will you read books to me?”

I know there’s so much to anticipate as they grow up and spread their wings, but right now, today, I’m thrilled to have them all to myself.

[How we’re spending rainy mornings: this is our town.  And that’s our zoo in the middle, in case you’re wondering.]