I am suffering from senioritis.
I suppose I had it when I was actually a high school senior as well. Google defines seniorits as “a supposed affliction of students in their final year of high school or college, characterized by a decline in motivation or performance.”
My youngest child is now a high school senior; couple this with my brain on motherhood and middle age, and I am now experiencing senioritis 2.0. I define this as “a real affliction of mothers during their youngest child’s final year of high school, characterized by forgetfulness of routine school occurrences, a decline in motivation to participate in school functions, and mood swings ranging from sadness to utter glee.”
I have been a parent of at least one child in the public school system for sixteen years., and an active member of the PTSA for fifteen years. I’ve paid my dues, and I am tired.
Last week, a friend mentioned that report cards come out this week. I hadn’t even realized the first quarter ended.
The window to sign up for parent-teacher conferences is open, and I am signing up for zero.
I played Words with Friends on my phone during fall and winter sports orientation nights. (To be fair, most parents do this, but this year I don’t even feel guilty about it.)
The most recent weekly email from the school system announced, “The 2019-20 calendar has been approved and is now online.” I almost clicked the link, because I’m that person who enters in all the pertinent dates into her calendar immediately. My finger was hovering over my phone screen before I realized that I don’t have to click.
I don’t have to click, because the school calendar will be irrelevant to me by the end of May.
Part of me (okay, the majority of me) is thrilled. I went to school for nineteen years, plus fifteen more as a parent, and I’m as ready to move on as my kids. Part of me is sad to officially say goodbye to that part of my life, because it was a really good part. As a mostly stay-at-home mother, my years of helping out at school or with the PTSA helped fill the void that work left, and I like feeling productive and goal-oriented. Yet:
I can clear out the school supply shelf in my office closet.
I can turn the kids’ “homework room” into something else – anything else.
But:
I won’t be a field hockey or cross country mom anymore.
I won’t run into friends and acquaintances at school events.
I will miss the camaraderie of other parents who are also trying to raise good kids.
This whole year is full of yets and buts. It’s a year full of lasts…we’ve already had the last first day of school, the last cross country meet, the last Homecoming dance, the last first quarter.
It’s a year of lasts followed by a year of firsts, for this kid and for me. Quite unlike myself, I am trying not to think ahead too much. I’m trying to just let it happen, and embrace the change. But whenever the thought of graduation looming feels bittersweet, I focus on the sweet part: I remember that I will never have to pack lunches in the morning again.
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