"To the scheme" we toasted last night during our annual back-to-school banquet. The Girl picked out the linens, ironed them, and developed a "woodland creature" theme in decorations (rock on 1950's home ec!!!). The Boy drew and taped up a poster, "The Year of the Skeem" it read (we have a bit of work ahead of us). The kids went to bed happy. We did not have our annual nighttime whispered conversations about being afraid or anxious. No woodland creatures fluttering in their tummies for the first time.
I had a hard time falling asleep. I felt like I was made out of paper.
While I was making breakfast The Sister asked if I felt nervous. "Not in the least," I replied in a shaky, crazy-high-pitched falsetto (funnier if I was a man, but still pathetic).
She continued: "I think it feels weird knowing that everybody else is doing the normal thing... and we're just... not."
She's right. Having an awesome off-the-grid plan is indeed awesome, but when feet hit the floor it feels... furtive.
For the record we were up and out of the apartment, with backpacks, by 8:15. We took our first-day-of-school pictures in our usual spot. And we promptly... walked ourselves to the park. We passed by a gorgeous private school on our block that had its sassy balloons tapping against the brick in the breeze. All the students wearing their new clothes and excited smiles walked up the steps with their parents... It felt very similar to two years ago when I showed up at Starbucks by Lincoln Center wearing sweats, tube-socks, and sandals, and the line was nothing but Fashion Week runway models: short, and so not part of the group. I saw the kids watching the traditional back-to-school scene. This could have been my moment to teach a valuable lesson... something like, Children, remember, there are so many right and beautiful choices in this life! Or something more lowbrow, but still great, like, Different strokes for different folks! Instead I opted for rock bottom and channeled Eddie Haskell, "The poor saps. Hahaha."
This was our walk to school.
Along with the 20 billion dogs -- all off leashes -- ducks,
sparrows, and squirrels, this guy was a classmate.
Our first classroom was a bench at the Conservatory Water. We all did DEAR (a term we learned from the Ramona books -- Drop Everything And Read... only we didn't really have anything to drop... it was more like I Needed Everybody Reading Directly (NERD) in order to get myself centered and breathing regularly. The Girl read Esio Trot, by Roald Dahl, and Judd the Red Chicken read Teddy Roosevelt, Young Rough Rider, by Edd Parks. After 45 minutes we packed up and transitioned into our Physical Education.
Do you see that fireman pole? Whoever designed it made it way too far out, so most kids don't ever use it without first whispering, "Goodbye cruel world..." Mine have never dared. But today was a day to conquer. There were many aborted attempts. Then their auntie showed up, hurled her cute 16-year old self down it, and encouraged them to do the same. And they did. Judd the Red Chicken wrote about this accomplishment tonight in his journal. They also ran a few "laps" around the playground (their idea, not mine), and played until it was time to catch the train.
Their backpacks were light (they kept laughing about how light they were -- usually they are bowed forward at a 45-degree angle because their backpacks are so flippin' heavy) -- only containing a snack, a bottle of water, their book, a clipboard, and a pencil. On the clipboard were some of those clock worksheets, which they worked on during the subway ride to Queens.
The Dad works in Queens, so he picked us up, took us to an awesome deli where we grabbed sandwiches and pasta, and then we headed out to the Merchant Marine Academy, where he showed his offspring where he went to school for four years. En-route he also showed them what happens when you go over the speed limit (regardless of whether or not the car in front of you is going over the speed limit). I would like to point out that I said nothing after the officer handed the ticket through the window... except, "The scheme just keeps getting more and more expensive."
The Dad then dropped us off at the Queens County Farm Museum (which is free) where we wandered around for a couple of hours until he could retrieve us and take us back to the subway station.
While at the farm the kiddos pulled out their clipboards and wrote down verbs, adjectives, and nouns of what they were seeing (on Octopus paper -- because that's a well-known farm animal for us city kids...). Asparagus plants are "feathery."
Finally home -- having finished the clock worksheets on the return subway ride. I thought that the children would be tired and grumpy, but they were happy. After showers, piano practice, and dinner they didn't complain one bit when I handed them their journals and asked them to write.
"How was school?" I asked when I was tucking them in.
"I hate school." Judd the Red Chicken responded.
"No. I meant what we did today."
"I love school."
The day that I was so nervous about ended up being bright in all respects, but one. When The Girl went to take care of our hermit crabs before bed she discovered that Stuart had passed. My brilliant Friend A is mindful and heart-ful of the various undertones and harmonies of all living things, and she had mentioned a couple of weeks ago that our little guy might be stuck in his shell. I meant to look into that, but quite frankly, since he was eating and moving regularly, I forgot -- until tonight. Who knew that being stuck in a shell could be that dangerous?
The kids asked that I honor him:
R.I.P. Stuart
(That's his little casket that The Boy wanted to bury in Central Park. I don't think that's legal, so Stuart went where small NYC pets go -- the shoot.)
It has been a full day. We will all surely come down with the West Nile virus from the mosquito bites we acquired. I promise -- assuming I don't die of West Nile virus -- that I will never make you suffer through such a long post again. The first day is always so much bigger than subsequent days...
