Courtney's Chronicles
The first day of school has always brought a strange mix of emotions for me. There is excitement over new backpacks, freshly sharpened pencils, new teachers and seeing friends again. There is the inevitable morning chaos of trying to remember who needs what, making sure everyone has shoes on, and snapping that first-day-of-school picture. But this year, the first day of school felt different. For the first time, all six of our children are in school.
From kindergarten all the way up to 11th grade, every single one of them packed a backpack and jumped in the car. Upon arriving at the school, they headed toward their classrooms and left me walking out the doors alone wondering one very important thing: What in the world is a mom supposed to do at home alone all day? Don't worry. I figured it out rather quickly. There is a list a mile long.
There is laundry—always laundry. With eight people living under one roof, I am fairly certain our washing machine has never experienced loneliness. There are dishes, floors that need sweeping, bathrooms that need cleaned, pa-perwork, emails, errands and plenty of work waiting outside. Except the first day of school fell on the week when God thought Indiana needed to experience torrential downpours, so the outside work is just going to have to wait. There are pigs to check, chores to do, appointments to make and approximately 472 things I told myself all summer, "I'll get to that when the kids go back to school."
Well, here we are. And suddenly, I am wishing I hadn't been quite so eager for that uninterrupted productivity. Because the house is quiet, too quiet. There aren't little feet running through the kitchen. Nobody is asking me for a snack five minutes after finishing breakfast. There aren't toys scattered across the living room floor. Nobody is yelling "Mom!" because they can't find something that is directly in front of them. No one needs me to settle an argument over whose turn it is.
For years, I dreamed of accomplishing an entire task without hearing "Mom!" 17 times. Now I find myself missing it. Motherhood is funny that way. We spend so many years exhausted by the noise and the mess. We pick up the same toys over and over. We wipe fingerprints off windows knowing they will return within minutes. We complain about the shoes piled by the door, the cups left on the coun-ter and the blankets dragged into every room. Then one day, the toys disappear. The shoes are gone. And the house is qui-et.
Our oldest children have been in school for years, so sending kids off isn't anything new. But sending our youngest to kindergarten feels like closing an entire chapter of motherhood. For years, there has always been at least one little one home with me. Someone tagging along while I run errands. Someone riding in the backseat asking a hundred ques-tions. Someone wanting lunch, asking to go outside or following me from room to room. Now, suddenly, they all have places to be that don't include me. And I am incredibly proud of that.
Watching your children grow is exactly what we are raising them to do. We want them to become independent. We want them to learn, make friends, discover their talents and find their place in this world. But nobody really warns a mother that doing your job well means your children slowly need you less. My older children certainly don't need me in the same way my kindergartner does. Yet even that kinder-gartner walked into school ready for a new adventure.
Meanwhile, Mom went home to stare at the evidence of the busy summer we had just finished. I know this season will bring good things, too. Maybe I'll actually finish a cup of cof-fee while it's still hot. Maybe I'll accomplish something from beginning to end without interruption. Maybe I'll finally tackle a closet—or maybe I'll just close the door and save that project for another day. Because that mile-long list isn't going anywhere. But neither is childhood.
At 3 o'clock, the quiet disappears. Back-packs hit the floor. Someone is hungry. Someone has homework. Someone needs a paper signed. Within minutes, the house feels alive again. And I realize that maybe the quiet isn't so bad because it reminds me how much I love the noise. These years of raising children can feel incredibly long when we're standing in the middle of them. Yet somehow, they pass faster than we ever imagined.
So this school year, I'll work through my mile-long list while they're gone. But when they come home, I'll savor every moment. I might complain about the backpacks on the floor. I might remind them for the thousandth time to put their shoes away. I might wonder how six children can make so much noise. But I'll also thank God for every bit of it. Because someday, the house won't just be quiet between the morning rush and the afternoon pickup. And when that day comes, I have a feeling I'd give anything to hear one more little voice yell, "Mom!"