The front porch has several pots of flowers placed on it. Thrillers, spillers, and fillers. It's a simple formula for the basic porch potted plant aesthetic. The pots of flowers also make for great props when taking pictures of people on the porch. At this time of year the robust blooms have slowed a bit and some of the foliage is turning a bit crispy. The light is changing ever so slightly, and though the temperatures are still somewhat high there is a looming feeling that a new season is upon us. The swimming pools are still open, but children are now back to school, and afternoons are now spent practicing musical instruments, or perhaps at little league soccer and foot-ball fields.
With hardly anyone at our community pool these days, I like to go in the evenings and lie on a chaise lounge chair. How is this my life? Me. Alone at the pool. Not a soul around me or with me. It's just so quiet. With seven children, things have never really been quiet. I place my air-pods into my ears and scroll through my music. I choose my '80's and '90's custom playlist and am instantly transported in time.
How is it that suddenly I am not filling out school disclosures, shopping for school supplies, figuring out car-pools, making lunches, making breakfasts, making after-school snacks, making early dinners before heading out to stand in a field a watch a child run around in some sort of a uniform, taking a child to music lessons, helping with homework, making evening snacks, driving forgotten homework or forgotten lunches or lunch money to the school, taking a child (or children) out of school to home-school, attending recitals and concerts, reading for reading minutes, reading for fun, reciting spelling words on the drive to school, listening to (or trying to) listen to five children telling me all at once what they did at school that day, reading scriptures as a family, praying as a family, listening to children's individual prayers, praying myself over each of my children, collapsing into bed exhausted and starting all over the next day.
Every parent can tell you about the day they sent their first child to their first day of school. It's a mixed bag. Some will say it was their first day of freedom. Others may say they became completely emotionally unhinged. And some might feel it was a combination of the two. Thirty years ago I walked my eldest child to her first day of kindergarten. She walked out to the playground area where her teacher was waiting, went and stood beside another little girl, turned around and smiled at me and then took her teachers hand and walked away from me and toward her classroom. I took my three year-old's hand and hoisted my baby boy a little higher on my hip, walked back to the car, got them loaded into their car-seats, buckled my seat-belt and then sat there and had a good little cry. She loved school. She loved her new little friends. And I missed her desperately.
That was three decades ago. I scroll through my social media. The feed is full of pictures of children standing on their front porches. Sometimes holding a small chalk-board with their "vitals" grade, teacher, likes, dislikes etc. A new outfit to wear. A cute hair-do. New shoes. And sometimes sporting new braces. Some of them will grow two or more inches in just a year. Some won't grow any. Some will make lots of friends. Some won't make any. Some will love their teacher. Some will complain to their parents about their teacher. Some will love their lunch. Some will be too busy visiting with friends and come home with a lunch bag full of uneaten food. Some won't be able to see the chalk-board. Some will not be able to sit still for hours on end. Some will be leaders. Some will be followers. Some will be big fish. Some will feel like minnows.
The pool gate opens. My solitude is interrupted by a young family of four coming to take an evening swim. I smile over at them. I'm thinking that like me, maybe they're wanting to squeeze in the last little bit of summer. I look at the young boy swimming toward his mother. I'm not a good swimmer, but I remember when I was twelve years old, watching a young mother teaching her infant how to hold his breath under the water. She would count slowly one....two....three....blow gently on his face and quickly dip him and bringing him back out of the water smile big and tell him what a good job he did. Years later, it was exactly how I'd teach all my babies to swim.
The last couple of years, parents have home-schooled out of necessity. Now, more and more, parents are home-schooling by choice. I've done a few stints of home-schooling. I probably should have done it more often than not. There were times one of my children would struggle. I would be over-whelmed. They would be overwhelmed. We'll get through this. I felt inadequate. Of course I can't go back in time and change anything. It will be interesting to see the paths that my children take with their children. One thing is for sure, they will be ready and willing to do whatever is best for them emotionally. There is so much more support now. Online help. Groups to join. Co-ops. All we had thirty years ago was a land-line, and a public library. It's a brave new world. It's going to take brave parents.
Our porch has been the place for taking impromptu family pictures. I've cajoled/demanded the attention of "five minutes of your time" to get a quick capture of important events. First day of school. Last day of school. Leaving for the hospital to have a baby. Prom. Birthdays. Just because it's a beautiful Sunday and I don't want to forget this day. The porch was empty this last week for the first day of school. My baby has a full-time job now and is contemplating serving a two-year mission for our church. If he goes, you can be certain I'll be taking a picture of him right there by the flower pots. Until then you can find me basking in my new-found quiet. I guess the seasons really are changing.
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