Monday, September 7, 2009

Robert, Emily, and John

Well, to quote old Bobby Burns:

The best laid schemes o' mice and men oft go astray.


So, call me mouse or man (just don't call me late for dinner; couldn't resist, sorry!), but astray mine did go. Though here I am blogging with if not renewed vigor, then certainly a sense of hope of being here regularly again.
Cue Emily D:

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

Has anyone ever gotten it better than her?
but I digress and digress and digress....
My oldest son starts kindergarten tomorrow.
After he graduated from preschool this past June, I spent four days convinced that we had bedbugs and that we were going to move into my in-law's home while everything was heated past boiling and then sealed for six months. Needless to say, or maybe I do need to say, they were ecstatic about being with their grandsons full time. The worst part of the whole ordeal ended up being when I had to call them and tell them we were staying put. So, a week and a half ago, when I was overly emotional about something, I looked at my husband and said, "No matter what I do or say until mid-September, just repeat to yourself, 'kindergarten.'" He thought it was a great sign that maybe this time we wouldn't have to go through some other kind of faux-infestation (mice, anyone?) for my feelings of... Who are these people, and what are they doing with my child?
Because, frankly, that is exactly how I feel.
And I am still in shock that my entire life's calendar is going to be controlled, in a general but large way, by the Public School System.
As will my son. Sort of, kind of, but really.
And, okay, I know it is all good. Not only good, but great even. Because I also know that we are part of the very lucky ones - he's going to school. Too many children either aren't or have horrible circumstances around that experience, especially this year. Which makes me feel very humbled and grateful and amazed that I got so lucky to be able to have this experience of motherhood, which is common as dirt, but for me holds everything, as does the earth. Like mice. And with that, I'll let Mr. Keats take us out:

The poetry of earth is never dead:
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
That is the Grasshopper's--he takes the lead
In summer luxury,--he has never done
With his delights; for when tired out with fun
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
The poetry of earth is ceasing never:
On a lone winter evening, when the frost
Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills
The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever,
And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,
The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills.

1 Comments:

Blogger Sheila Deeth said...

Oh wow. I know what you mean. That point when you realize someone else might start to spend as long as you, or even longer than you with your child. Other people have influence. Other ideas... Scary stuff. Then they grow up and somehow it all works out. Just don't call'em late for their dinner.

September 15, 2009 at 4:21 PM  

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