parenting at the end of a school year. bless us all.

It’s that time of year when, if you have children or are involved in education in any form from any angle, every bit of your life feels like a train running off its tracks, a snowball on its snowy descent down the steepest hill in town, a monkey spinning plates on a tilt-a-whirl.  You get the idea.

When’s the last morning my children ate a hot breakfast? It’s been cereal for far too long to admit over here.

(I’m reminded of this old post from Jen Hatmaker that makes me laugh and feel understood every year about this time.)

Last night at church, four of us parents sat huddled together in a classroom for our fourth graders who were moving up the ranks in the Sunday School hierarchy.  It’s actually a sweet tradition and I cannot say enough about how grateful I am for what our church does in and through its children’s programs.  However. I did not realize that the Moving On Up party was that day – neither did my son nor did my fellow parents and comrades in arms – and I just couldn’t rally myself to care deeply last night.  The four of us were sort of laughing since we all had sons in the class and all of the sons were the third to sixth child in their individual families and by then we just didn’t have the parental dazzle to pull out the stops and act excited. And, even more, the boys – being used to this end of the line parenting – were not one bit concerned either.

There was a time that I might have felt all the same feelings I feel currently – tired, not enthusiastic about a certain prize or ritual or etc that every other parent seemed to be thrilled to celebrate.  And at that time (say with Riley or London) I would leave said event feeling guilty and as if I needed to work a little harder to be impressed with participation trophies or certificates that every child alive receives for breathing the air.

But now – at Child Number Six, at Forty Five Years Old, at Mothering For a Good Long Time – I feel the same. I feel unconcerned and unimpressed. But this go round – you CANNOT make me feel guilty about that.  You want me to be the parent who brings the paper plates instead of the themed cupcakes that coordinate with the team’s colors? High five. (And hope I can even remember those pesky plates.) I won’t feel guilty about missing an awards night or showing up late.  I won’t try to rattle off excuses about multiple events or single parents or exploding kittens.  I’ll just show up late, paper plates in hand, give you a smile and duck out as early as I can. 

Will some parents judge me or feel sorry for me or wonder why I can’t get my act together?

I don’t even know because I won’t be asking.

Maybe in August I’ll sign up to bring the homemade cookies or the cupcakes, but this month – don’t count on it.

_____________________________________