One of my favorite books, Agnes Grey by Anne Bronte, contains wisdom that aptly describes the condition of my heart over the past week and a half:

“The human heart is like india-rubber; a little swells it, but a great deal will not burst it. If little more than nothing will disturb it, little less than all things will suffice to break it. As in the outer members of our frame, there is a vital power inherent in itself that strengthens it against external violence. Every blow that shakes it will serve to harden it against a future stroke; as constant labour thickens the skin of the hand, and strengthens its muscles instead of wasting them away: so that a day of arduous toil, that might excoriate a lady’s palm, would make no sensible impression on that of a hardy ploughman.”

Yes. I felt like my heart was breaking as my kiddos left for school and I sat here contemplating how I was going to reconstruct a meaningful life from flotsam and jetsam, but this quote buoyed me up as it has on other emotionally stormy occasions, gently reminding me that although I am so very sad, I am also resilient and should search for pieces of hope amidst the wreckage of despair.

I enjoy the after school hours so much more now than I use to. Previous to this school year, Vivi would walk in the door, and Tad, like a little puppy just wanting to bounce and play, would pester her and cause a ruckus. The hours from 3-5 p.m. that used to be contentious and mostly miserable now actually border on pleasant.

Tad also use to buck my attempts at infusing structure and implementing routine. Having spent his day at school in a structured setting, he is now much more amenable to following instruction at home and getting his responsibilities done first and playing later. Vivian, unfettered by her overly rambunctious brother, is also able better able to focus on her after-school routine.

Ariana, who has always been pleasant after school, continues to be so. She started early morning seminary yesterday and, no less miraculous than the parting of the Red Sea, she has gotten up on her own at the first buzz of her alarm and without waking Vivian with whom she shares a room.

I am still like a little dinghy without a sail, scrubbing grout lines until they sparkle, steam-blasting plumbing fixtures and baseboard crevices, and trying to accomplish all the menial domestic tasks for which I am reluctantly responsible so that my time and attention post school pickup can, instead, be directed to my kids.

I’ve never, ever been the June Cleaver kind of mom with a flair for making my kids’ childhoods magical. We are operating at a frenzied survival mode pace 99.9% of the time; however, I’ve started a simple tradition of setting out a little snack for my kids right before I leave to pick them up from school. Each day, they eagerly rush into the house to discover what edible surprise awaits them. A glass of chocolate milk and crackers? Veggies and a little hummus? Apple slices and peanut butter sprinkled with a few mini chocolate chips! The simple, premeditated refreshment helps them to know that I’ve been looking forward to and planning for their return. Tad marveled yesterday at my 6-days-straight snack streak, further attesting to previously sporadic, less-than-stellar motherly moments. Vivi said that I was “amazing” when she found out that today’s snack was microwave popcorn. Truth be told, I felt more accomplishment from their snack astonishment than from the spectacularly clean master bathroom that I slaved over for four hours while they were at school. I guess all these years of setting low expectations for my kids is finally paying off!

Flotsam and jetsam. What shall I make of you today?

I feel like I’m going to throw up. All my babies went to school today.

Somehow, the sunlit world is gray
A small boy went to school today.
So often in these few years
Of healing hurts and mending tears
Of picking playthings off the floor
Of running often to the door
To see if he were safe at play,
The awful fear that he might stray
On eager, fearless baby feet
Into the crowded city street.
One thought has been a placid pool,
He’ll soon be old enough for school.
And he was old enough today
Yet all the sunlit world is gray.

So soon my rooms grow orderly
With no small boy to bother me.
But quiet rooms are lonely things
When in their walls no small boy sings.
A quiet yard’s a lonely place
When it has known a small boy’s face.
Today he joined the world of men
He’ll not be wholly mine again
Today he braved life’s rise and fall–
Dear Lord, he seems so very small.
Somehow the sunlit world seems gray
My baby went to school today.

–Caroline Walker (Originally appearing in the newspaper shared with me by my dear friend, Myrna Monnier).

Tad woke up sobbing, commiserating with his momma who had been crying for days (dare I say weeks? months?) about his first day of Kindergarten. He’d perked up by departure time, and BT reports that the drop off was tear-free and full of excitement. (For Tad, not me. I’m a wreck.)

Vivi was excited to wear her new dress, another Oliver + S creation (Rollerskate Dress), to her first day of THIRD GRADE! I did raw-edge appliqued books on the hem and used selvedges as the book titles on the spines.

Ari, so grown up, was whisked off by her ride before we got to do our full photo session. Oh, how I pray she has a positive experience today, her first day of high school.

I knew this day would come. I knew it would be hard. I hoped it wouldn’t be as difficult as I had worked it up to be in my mind. It’s all of that and more.

The line in the poem that really hits me in the gut and perfectly sums up my sorrow is “He’ll not be wholly mine again.” I know that the school day will fly by and I’ll see my kids again, but as soon as they start kindergarten, it’s the beginning of the end. Until today, Tad was my little buddy. We went everywhere together. We had picnics and played Legos. We fought and we cuddled. But, like his sisters who have gone before him, when he walked out the door today, it was one small step for my sweet child and one giant leap toward a future where I play less and less of a role in his life. Because I love my kids, I am excited for their future and their growth. Because I am selfish and perhaps a wee bit maladjusted, I am devastated to lose them and perplexed about what my future holds.

Somehow the sunlit world seems gray. My babies went to school today.

Even though I know it’s my job to teach and nurture my kids, on most days I feel like I learn more from them than they from me. For example, Tad often reminds me of the power of simple, heartfelt prayer.

“Dear Heavenly Father, this is Tad. I hope that my Grandpa Tad is feeling better after his fall and that he is eating his oatmeal because I really love him.” When I talked to my dad that morning, he reported that, indeed, he had eaten oatmeal for breakfast and that he has no lasting effects from his fall this past summer.

On another occasion, Grandpa Tad’s dust collector system wasn’t working. My dad struggled mightily for a few of days to get it up and running but to no avail. I explained the problem to Tad, and he and I knelt as Tad offered a simple little prayer that Grandpa Tad would be able to fix his dust collector system. “Heavenly Father, this is is Tad . . .”

No more than 10 minutes after Tad finished his prayer, my dad called with happy news: With heaven’s help, he had fixed the problem. A loose wire in the switch that he had previously found but had not hooked back up correctly.  Young Tad’s response to having his prayer answered so quickly and directly: “That was cool and weird.”

When Tad earnestly prays for Ariana and Vivian in our family prayer as they head off to school, it’s easy for them to forgive his impishness: “Please bless Vivi that she will have someone to play with at recess, and please bless Guppy that the mean girls at school won’t mess with her any more. She is not ugly, she is pretty and nice because that’s what she is.”

I’m sure that Heavenly Father smiles when Tad wishes Him a good day: “I hope my dad has a good day and that my mom accomplishes everything that she needs to. And I hope You have a good day, too.”

Encouraged by his faith, I’m trying to adopt Tad’s sweet salutation in my own personal prayers. “Heavenly Father, this is Lori . . .”

My prayer is that I will find joy in motherhood as I try really hard to teach my kids to have grateful hearts, helpful hands, and quick, creative minds.