Indian Summer arrived last week in full force and once bundled kids were able to wear shorts to school again. I found it a little unnerving – I always do this time of year when I can’t figure out what season it is or what I’m supposed to wear. On Thursday, we started in the 70′s and ended in the 30′s, letting us know. without uncertainty, that winter is coming. Why is autumn always this series of weather starts and stops? Is two solid months of 60′s and sun too much to ask? I suppose.
Anyway, the warm weather meant I worked with windows open last week, enjoying summer breezes and little voices carried in by the wind. They made me smile while I typed until it hit me: those voices aren’t mine. Sigh.
It’s true, my three are now, for the first year ever, all buttoned up and sitting behind desks in the elementary school. There are no shorter school days to finagle, no classroom snacks or extra outfits to pack. I will no longer spend early spring days on my driveway drawing chalk outlines and watching the big kids come home to their parents after long, big kid days. Instead, I’ll watch as mine come home to me. They’re all BIG kids. Sigh again.
Don’t get me wrong, they arrive each day at 3:30 and inevitably have me praying for peace by 3:40. As much as I want them here and to hold back the hands of time with all my might, I like change and the new shapes our lives are taking. But I miss those little voices – my three, sweet, little, toddler and preschool voices – wafting in the kitchen window, swirling down the stairs from the playroom, climbing up from the basement.
They’re still here, I guess. They’re just bigger.