It Must Be All Those Pointy Crayons
There are few days that hold as much anticipation and sheer possibility as the first day of a new school year. Christmas maybe, or the beginning of a long awaited vacation; but niether of these have the fresh start aspect of that magical day in September. I’ve mentioned before that for me, tomorrow marks the start of my new year.
I don’t make resolutions in January. I don’t change my life. I don’t vow to start fresh. Even though my birthday is little more than a week after New Year’s, I just don’t feel like the middle of winter is a time of fresh starts. By the time the new year rolls around, I’m already well entrenched in the daily grind, and just don’t feel inspired to make changes.
At this time of year, on the other hand, I’m filled to brimming with potential and possibility. I have plans aplenty. I vow to become organizied. To get a handle on the stuff–both physical and ephemeral–that clutters my life. I make resolutions–This year I’ll get up earlier instead of getting the panicked rush out the door down to a science. I’ll be the mom who returns the field trip form the day after it comes home, and never have to scrounge in my pockets on the playground because I forgot it was bake sale day.
It won’t last, of course. Sure, for the first few weeks I’ll make lunches the night before, careful to tuck a treat or note into the box. We’ll lay out clothes, too, all the better to establish a new and organized routine. I’ll set the alarm for 7, and we’ll be up in time for a leisurely breakfast and some cartoons before we head out the door. I’ll check the backpack every night and create some sort of “system” for the paper. There will be lists and schedules. But gradually, the “system” will become “lose things in a swirling vortex of paper covering my desk.” I’ll start hitting the snooze button, and eventually stop setting the alarm altogether, setting the stage for the mad dash to school–an event in which I am an olympic contender. The clutter will creep back in, and possibility will be ground down in the face of reality.
Still, every September I’m filled with an overwhelming optimism, a feeling that all things are possible. And really, looking at all those pristine notebooks and shiny markers, how could anyone feel otherwise.