Seasons Change

The mornings are crisper, the trees dance and loose their colorful gowns to the wind. This I have seen before. This I expected.

What I did not expect, but snuck up quietly and as peacefully as a seed breaking ground into the sun, was Sam's request to try out school.

The winds of change sent serendipities spinning wildly about us all as we fell into step with a school 2 miles away that seemed to best represent our values as a family. Indeed, it is called "The Family School," a public charter school created and supported by the collaboration of families and teachers. They compost lunch waste, garden for food, and are planting native habitats to support other wild critters. Parents are encouraged to come to class and/or help out as often as they wish.

I went to school 4 whole days last week. Slowly, I faded my presence from Sam's side as he grew more comfortable. Trinidad launched full force into nine-year-old independence and said that I could come to his class whenever it worked for me, maybe once a week. Both are enjoying making friends and having new responsibilities.

There is so so much I could say about this choice. The needs it meets and does not meet. The bittersweetness of moving out into the world, away from the cozy rhythms of our nest. The excitement of discussing new experiences, people, and ideas.

But just now, I must put my house in order.

Not that clarity is lacking. I am very peaceful in this decision, and the boys seem to be, too. It's all been remarkably easy, even as the transition has been rigorous. I have no expectations, only hopes and gratitude.

After a science lesson, Trinidad told me his thoughts on the bike ride home. I told him mine. "But why does it seem so clear when you explain it?" he asked. "Why didn't my teacher say it that way?"

I stopped the bike. "Do you see that trash can over there?" I asked, pointing to the tall rectangular box.

"Yes," he said.

I walked the bike around to its side. "Now look at it," I said. "Does it look different from here? Would you even know what the front looked like if you'd never seen it before?"

He pondered. "No," he said.

"How about now?" I asked, wheeling our bike to the backside.

"Yeah, all the sides are different," he said.

"That's because we're looking at them from different perspectives," I said. "That's what I offered you: my perspective of the science lesson. Your teacher offered her perspective. How many do you think there are?"

"Lots! Wow, mom. Wow. Wow."

All sides considered, I'd say we're in this exploration together, and that's all I'd ever wish for.