My oldest child may be a junior in college, but my youngest
is still in the 4th grade. Fun, right?
What a difference 11 years makes. As my oldest marched
in with the rest of the kindergartners, a lump caught in my throat, and I
blinked back the tears. When my youngest started kindergarten, all I could
think was, “I can’t believe we still have six more years at this school.”
In what feels like a lifetime ago, I was the new mommy on
the school playground, dropping off my oldest while balancing a toddler on my
hip, pushing an infant in the stroller and monitoring a rambunctious preschooler.
After our fourth son arrived, my husband and I declared that
we were “done.” My mother laughed and laughed. Five years later, I delivered
another bouncing baby boy.
What were we thinking?
Well, the truth is we weren’t. If we had been, well, I
wouldn’t be writing this article. Now when I drop my youngest off to school, it’s just me. Not
a hanger-on in sight. And it’s not so bad.
Sure, I’m easy to spot. While I’ve been known to hide my
increasingly visible white hairs with highlights or a hat, my expression is a
dead giveaway. Each wrinkle around my eyes represents a fumbled poetry
reading, a forgotten lunch, a missed homework assignment, or a birthday party invitation
that never came.
No one has delivered a bombshell like, “It’s so nice that you take your grandson to school.” Not yet, anyway.
Self-conscious though I may be, it’s not like I’m leaning on
a can or shouting at people to speak up. And, knock on wood, no one has
delivered a bombshell like, “It’s so nice that you take your grandson to
school.” Not yet, anyway.
You see I was going
to write about the downside of being the oldest mom on the school playground,
but honestly, I think this dubious honor has more perks than pitfalls.
For starters, I have seen many teachers come and go. I know
which are gems and which should consider retirement or a career change. I know
which games work best at which class parties. I know which field trips to
chaperone and which to steer clear of. And I know the difference between a truly
sick child and an overly cautious school nurse.
While I may have seen my fair share of classroom parties,
poetry recitals, book fairs and volunteer luncheons, I am a survivor.
Thankfully, many of my son’s friends are also the youngest
in their families. It is with their mothers that I share a special affinity
and, on this gang’s last day of elementary school, perhaps a margarita.