Today was back to school for many, but not anyone in my house. I pondered this and realized that since 1963 one of us has always started school on the first day of school. For the record, I didn’t start school in ’63. Even when I graduated college, I started school because I was a teacher. Then, we had children, who started school every first day. Some years, we all started back to school together.
It is bittersweet, for certain, this no new start. I always liked cleaning and packing up at the end of the year and then starting fresh at the beginning. There was a defined time to purge the old and bring in the new. Now, I work all year round (like a grown up, ick) and I know I can clean my files, bookcases, and desk whenever I want but it’s not the same as everyone doing it together.
It is also a very real reminder that raising my family is over. Of course, I can follow in my mother’s footsteps and obsessively worry about my young adults, but I choose not to, mainly because it causes wrinkles. Even now, my mom’s first words to me after hello when I call her usually are “What’s wrong?” So, I try not to worry. I am in transition, even though no one has lived here at home full time for the past four years, this empty nest takes getting accustomed to for many reasons. Sometimes it feels just right and other times I am baffled at how quiet things are and how tidy the house stays.
I like change when I have a plan as to where and what, this time there is no plan. I am waiting on God to reveal it to me. I suppose I could say I’m in his school, waiting to be shown to class.