As the back-to-school season approaches, it’s easy to become enveloped in the excitement and bustle surrounding it. I can relate to this experience deeply. In the month leading up to my son Ethan’s start in kindergarten, even with my part-time job at a non-profit organization and juggling my two energetic boys’ various activities, I felt compelled to invest countless hours searching for the ideal backpack to mark Ethan’s debut in the academic world.
My quest began with visits to all the prominent local stores, including specialty shops and sporting goods retailers. I even explored toy stores and luggage outlets. When none of these options met my vague vision of the perfect backpack, I turned to online retailers such as Lands’ End, L.L.Bean, and Amazon. Ultimately, I chose a junior-sized, monogrammed backpack in a vibrant Caribbean blue, which looked delightful on Ethan.
I undertook a similar search for a lunch box to fit inside the backpack and then for a thermos to go into the lunch box. Don’t even get me started on the saga of acquiring the school supplies; that endeavor took me to five separate office supply stores. I was determined that Ethan would have precisely the right quantities, brands, and colors of items deemed essential for his educational journey.
I meticulously selected his first-day-of-school outfit and even suggested that we organize a week’s worth of clothing in the new closet organizer I purchased specifically for this purpose. After some deliberation, I splurged on a pair of trendy sneakers, despite their hefty price tag, and took him for a haircut.
Although it was a considerable undertaking, it was rewarding to see Ethan prepared for his big day.
Fast forward three years, and my younger son, Oliver, was ready to embark on his kindergarten adventure. By this time, I had relaxed significantly about back-to-school preparations. I realized that if I couldn’t find the specific 20-count Crayola pack after a couple of stores, sending him with the 24-count variety wouldn’t spell disaster. When he expressed disinterest in getting a haircut, I let it slide. To compensate for my perceived lack of effort, I volunteered in the classroom and committed to chaperoning field trips.
Outside of school, I continued my role as team parent for both boys’ soccer teams while searching for a new job and training for a half-marathon in my spare time.
Reflecting on those early days, I now question why I believed that finding the perfect backpack would somehow make me a supermom. In hindsight, the pursuit of that title seemed absurd, especially given the life-altering event that was to unfold shortly thereafter.
Two weeks after Oliver started kindergarten, I—a non-smoker previously considered healthy—was diagnosed with a rare lung cancer. This diagnosis hit particularly hard, as I had lost my own mother to lung cancer just before Oliver was born. The fear of not being present for my boys loomed large as I faced this new reality.
Fortunately, the doctors believed the cancer was localized, leading to a surgical recommendation which, while optimistic, still required me to undergo significant surgery. The recovery process was arduous, and I was separated from my boys for eight long, painful days—longer than I had ever been apart from them before. I missed key moments in their lives, including Joshua’s fall concert, and the emotional toll was heavy.
As the months passed, I navigated a painful recovery with the support of my husband, who stepped in during my absence. Eventually, I adjusted to my new normal, although it took most of the school year to get there.
Now, as we approach another back-to-school season, my perspective has shifted dramatically. This year, I find myself unconcerned about what my boys wear on their first day. I’m indifferent to which characters adorn Oliver’s thermos or the color of Joshua’s lunch box. The school supply list can call for sharpened pencils, but I might just send them in unsharpened—because, in the grand scheme of things, it truly doesn’t matter.
Taking a deep breath, I find solace in hope. I hope for all the usual things that parents wish for: that my boys make new friends, achieve good grades, and avoid conflicts at school. More importantly, I hope that I will be here next year to send them off to school again, with new shoes on their feet and a backpack filled with unsharpened pencils.
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In summary, the essence of parenting transcends the material aspects of preparation. It is rooted in hope, resilience, and the love we have for our children, reminding us that what truly matters is the bond we share and the moments we create together.