By: Anna Williams
As the back-to-school season rolls around, it’s all too easy to get swept up in the excitement. Trust me, I know the feeling. A few years back, when my youngest, Ethan, was poised to start kindergarten, I was a whirlwind of activity. I was juggling a part-time job, running errands for my two boys, and managing our chaotic household while dedicating countless hours to find the ideal backpack for Ethan’s big academic debut.
My search took me to local department stores, charming boutique shops, sporting goods outlets, and even a few luggage stores. When none of those options yielded the elusive “perfect” backpack, I turned to online shopping—Lands’ End, L.L.Bean, Amazon—you name it. Ultimately, I settled on a junior-sized, monogrammed, Caribbean blue backpack that looked absolutely adorable on Ethan.
The quest for the lunch box to fit inside the backpack followed, and then the thermos for the lunch box. Don’t even get me started on the school supply list; that odyssey required visits to five different office supply stores. I was determined that Ethan would have the right quantities, brands, and colors of everything deemed essential for his educational success.
I meticulously picked out his first-day outfit and even orchestrated a little “suggestion” to neatly arrange his clothing for the entire first week in the new cubby organizer I had purchased. With a little hesitation, I splurged on a pair of Skechers sneakers—$45 for shoes he’d likely outgrow in a month—because, let’s face it, they were all the rage among the other boys. I even took him for a haircut.
It was undeniably hard work, and the pressure to check everything off my lengthy to-do list before school started was intense, but at last, my little guy was ready.
Fast forward three years: my younger son, Leo, was about to embark on his kindergarten journey. By then, I had noticeably relaxed about the whole back-to-school affair. I realized that if I couldn’t find the exact 20-count Crayola box after a couple of stores, the world wouldn’t end if I sent him with the 24-count version instead. And when Leo announced he didn’t want a haircut, I let it slide. To balance out my perceived slacker mom status, I signed up to volunteer in the classroom and chaperone field trips.
Through it all, I was also managing my role as a team parent for both boys’ soccer teams while looking for a new job and training for a half-marathon. You get the picture.
Reflecting on those days, I can’t help but wonder why I thought that finding the perfect backpack would make me a supermom. And honestly, why was being a supermom so important to me back then? But that was before my life took a dramatic turn.
Just two weeks after Leo started kindergarten, I—a non-smoker who had always considered myself relatively healthy—was diagnosed with a rare form of lung cancer. Having lost my own mother to lung cancer right before Leo was born, I was terrified. The thought of not being around to see my boys grow up weighed heavily on my heart.
The doctors assured me that the cancer was localized, which was a relief. They recommended surgery, and my prognosis seemed hopeful. I underwent major surgery that fall, during which half of my left lung was removed.
For eight grueling days in the hospital, I couldn’t see my boys. Kids weren’t allowed in the critical care unit, and I didn’t want them to see me in such a vulnerable state, connected to tubes and machines. For the first time in my life as a mother, I didn’t want them to hug me due to the intense pain I was in. It was the longest time I had ever been away from them, and I missed Joshua’s third-grade fall concert, a milestone I had been looking forward to. That was incredibly tough for me.
Months of physical pain and depression followed. Halloween came and went, but I was too unwell to take the boys trick-or-treating. I wasn’t even allowed to drive for two months, which meant missing out on many precious moments.
Somehow, my wonderful husband managed to hold everything together, and I eventually began to heal, although it took much longer than I anticipated. By the time another school year rolled around, I realized I hadn’t engaged in my usual back-to-school rituals. The past year had been a blur, marked by the challenges of my recovery.
Now, as we enter yet another back-to-school season, my perspective has shifted dramatically. This year, I honestly don’t care about what my boys wear on their first day. The character on Leo’s thermos or the color of Joshua’s lunch box? Not important. And as for the school supply list calling for 24 “sharpened” pencils, I’m sending in unsharpened ones. Call me a rebel, but I’ve come to understand that these details really don’t matter.
Taking a deep breath, I focus on what truly counts: hope. I hope for all the usual things that every parent wishes for when sending their kids back to school. I hope my boys make new friends, excel in their studies, and stay safe from bullying. I even hope they complete their homework without constant reminders from me.
But more than anything, I hope to be here next year, sending them off to school once again—this time with generic-brand shoes on their feet and unsharpened pencils tucked into their slightly crumpled, not-so-perfect backpacks.
Life is unpredictable, but hope remains a constant.
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Summary
This heartfelt essay reflects on the journey of a mother sending her youngest child to kindergarten, highlighting the pressures of perfection in parenting and the transformative power of hope in the face of life’s challenges. It emphasizes the importance of cherishing moments and prioritizing what truly matters.
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