Is this the little boy at play?


I’m going to try not to get all Sunrise/Sunset on you all, but—hold me—my baby is seven today.

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SEVEN.

I have a hard time reconciling my growing-up boy with this idea that he will be, always and forever, my baby.

This summer, I remember crouching down at the end of the long-jump pit, waiting with camera to eye for his legs to come running toward me.

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I almost didn’t click the camera because I thought, Who is this older kid running toward me?

Oof, my heart. He IS the older kid.

Hug your babies, mamas. It does go so fast.

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Though seeing the person he is becoming is pretty awesome too.

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I am so lucky this little boy is mine. Happy Birthday D.


Too old to play?


A couple of weeks ago, a friend was telling me her son wanted to play soccer in their town’s recreational league, but she had a problem. Her son was too old to be “a beginner”.

Around here, soccer is a big deal (probably for you too?), with recreational leagues starting for kids as young as 3 and “travel soccer” teams—these require try-outs—beginning in third grade. You can spot the soccer kids pretty early—they can dribble and shoot and run like a grade-schooler before they can even tie their own cleats.

But, my friend’s son is seven. And that bummed me out. Is seven now considered “too old” to start a sport?

She isn’t alone in feeling this way. In fact, I clearly remember when Belly was playing first-grade soccer, and I looked over at the second graders playing and thought, “she’s going to get crushed in there.” To Belly, soccer was fun, social and not really all that competitive. But the girls in the grade above were a well-oiled machine at seven. I can understand my friend’s hesitation to throw her son into it.

Another example: My friend’s daughter is a gifted gymnast, but never took a serious gymnastics class until she was ten. When she began, she was told that she may be too old to get onto the more competitive track because of her age—the other girls had started training much, much younger. (thankfully, I think her ability convinced them otherwise, but if she had been 11 when she started? probably not)

Want to play football? Don’t wait too long. . .our town’s third graders start practicing daily in August. . . if you wait until junior or (gasp) high school to try out for a sport, you’ll be years in training behind some of your peers.

What about ballet? Jilly’s Pre-Ballet class had only one ten-year-old in it; everyone else was younger. Not such a big deal if you are small, but a tall twelve year old would tower over her much-younger classmates.

Now, to be fair, I don’t think that most of these classes/teams/groups overtly state that older kids can’t join in—-but older kids will surely notice that everyone seems to have gotten on board a lot earlier than they, and I imagine this discourages a lot of kids from even trying.

What do you think?

Is this a parent-created problem in that we’re worried about our kid being the worst one on the stage/field/mat, so we discourage them from starting something much later than their peers?

Or, do you think your kids don’t want to try out for something new because they’d be starting at square one when their friends are already on square 15?

First day of school

It’s a weird day to be a homeschooler since my town starts school today. My Facebook and Twitter feeds will fill up with posts about bus-stop waving (and/or the high-fiving that some parents do as the bus drives away), public invites to meet for coffee (without the kids), and lots of talk about school/jitters/teachers and dreaded homework assignments.

I’ve accepted that our lives are different, though I can’t help but wonder what this day would be like if my kids did go to school.

It’s 7:15am, and I’m pretty certain everyone would already be down in the kitchen, bleary eyed and nervous. I’d be taking breakfast orders, telling Belly that she must eat something more than a glass of orange juice, even with her stomach in knots.

I’d already be “borrowing” money from their allowance pouches to cobble together exact change for lunch. But, as I write this, I wonder if they have some newfangled system like pre-paid lunch cards—how out of touch am I?

I’d probably have the oven timer going so I could get the kids to the bus on time. Jilly and Belly would both be in the upper elementary school in town, as Jilly is entering third and Belly fifth. Jilly would be super excited, babbling on about the bus ride and who she knows in her class. Belly would be unusually quiet.

After driving them down the street to their noisy, neighborhood-friend-filled bus (it’s raining today, otherwise, I’d insist we walk), I’d return home with D for a little while until his turn came. We’d make sure his backpack is all set, maybe watch a few minutes of his favorite cartoon, and then—BEEP BEEP—my timer would go off again, and we’d go to the car.

And then I’d take him down to the same bus stop and watch my new first grader climb on board the big yellow bus, and I’d wave and cry as he drives away. This would be his first full day in school, since our kindergartens are still half-day.

I’d get back in the car and come home to an empty house. There would be beds to make, breakfast dishes to wash, a load of laundry to do. I’d throw myself into work, hoping to pick up more writing here and there to keep myself busy while the kids are in school.

I’d have to set the timer again to remember when the buses return.

You can call me crazy for homeschooling—and there are times I’d agree—but on a day like this, I am so happy that our reality is so very different.

Even if I can’t meet you for coffee today without the kids.