As always, the back-to-school season at our house revolves primarily around those who are left behind.
Max, of course, more than anyone. The baby who has many years – though they’ll be gone in a blink – of unloading my fridge ahead of him. Bottles of tobasco and lemon juice are so much more entertaining to pull out and put back than blocks. Note to guests: always screw tops on carefully and wipe bottles clean. Just in case!
Elliot, with her odd birthday (three weeks too late for possible inclusion in this year’s kindergarten class) is an absolute delight to have at home. She plays with and distracts Max whenever she can. They are quickly becoming the duo I remember my brother and I being.
Just days into the school year we’re finding our rhythm. Baking day. Science project day. Field trip day. Cleaning day. She’s really excited about learning to read, so we’re talking about letters and words during every activity.
Still, 90 percent of the time we’re playing, jumping, running, walking in the park, or building those ubiquitous fairy houses.
And Maya? The littles and I are getting used to seeing less of her. We’re looking for ways to make the evening hours count, even with the back-to-school bedtime rules.
Second grade is everything she hoped it would be, at least so far.
In just a few days, she has donned this independent, grown up attitude. Or I’m just now noticing all of that growth and maturity earned over a long, inquisitive summer.