Things change when school begins ~ September 9, 1993

David Heiller

Summer came to an end on Monday of this week, Labor Day. It was the last day that the kids didn’t have school.

Time with good friends. 
It doesn't take a lot of planning in the summer.

Things change in a hurry when school starts. It’s a time of “no mores.” No more sleeping in for the kids until seven, not when the school bus arrives at 7:15. Suddenly we have to get up at 6 a.m.

No more working on the computer when I wake up, or weeding the garden for half an hour before breakfast, or sitting down with a good book and a big cup of tea while the rest of the house is asleep.

No more sleeping in the tent or the trailer for the kids. No more 10 o’clock bedtimes. No more inviting friends over for a day or night.

No more cold cereal. When school is in session, I make hot cereal every morning except Wednesday. It’s my job, and I can do it in my sleep, which is good because I’m usually asleep when I make it.

Tuesday’s oatmeal passed the taste test of my family with flying colors. (It helps to put in a lot of sugar, and a dab of butter.) Mollie even asked for a second helping, and asked if we could have mush tomorrow. I said yes both times.

This is David's Cereal Card giving water:cereal proportions which I tacked on the
inside of the cupboard door for David.
I wrangled the children and he wrangled breakfast.
What a duo!

There’s something good about starting the day with hot cereal. You sit down together as a family to eat it. You talk. You take your time, because otherwise you’ll burn your tongue. Maybe because of that, you know that things will go all right, that bullies won’t beat you up, that your best friend won’t desert you.

AND FINALLY, no more kids at home during the day. When the kids left for school on Tuesday, the house was suddenly empty and quiet. Cindy and I were talking about that last week, about how nice it is when the kids get on the bus and the house is so quiet. A little peace and quiet is OK, especially after three months of war and noise.

1993

It’s a different kind of quiet though, not like you find occasionally in the summer when everyone happens to be gone before you. That’s more of a treat. It’s a lonelier kind of quiet, and it still carries a few worries. How is their bus ride going? How are they getting along in class? Are they making new friends? Getting into fights? We’ll eagerly wait for the answers after school, when the kids get home at four.

My respect for teachers goes up at this time of year. Most teachers have families of their own, but they can’t enjoy peace and quiet the day after Labor Day, because it is their job to teach 30 or so of the ones that have just left our houses so empty and quiet. Think about it the next time you complain about how they are overpaid and get the summers off.

Both of our kids ran to the bus eagerly on Tuesday. They had new clothes and new shoes. Noah was wearing an Indian necklace made out of bones. Their backpacks were bulging with colored pencils, calculators, rulers, and notebooks without a mark in them. They are starting with a clean slate, to coin a phrase.

They like school. I feel lucky for that, lucky for a good bus driver and good teachers, good cooks and good children, and a good home.

Those are things that hopefully will never change.