It’s that time of year again: Back to School at last. My house is quiet and empty and my writer’s brain is (normally) noisy and overflowing, itching to return to serious productivity.

Normally—but not today.

Today, my house is, indeed, quiet and empty, but my writer’s brain is AWOL. In its place is a weepy and very sappy mother’s heart making a mess all over my keyboard. What gives?

I’ve had all three kids in school before, so there’s nothing new there. None of them is off to college: They’ll all come home to me this afternoon, (hopefully) bubbling over with First Day tales and inhaling everything remotely edible, so there’s nothing new there.

I have plenty to do: a grant to write; a novel to finish; short stories to edit for submissions; my own homework to start reading for my next class (check out that stack); errands to run; a fridge to clean—nope, nothing new there, either.

And yet, for all that nothing, I somehow feel lost. Maybe that, that right there, is my problem—all this nothing.

 

I’m not accustomed to this type of First Day feeling at all. I’m usually the mom you’d see at the bus stop, turning cartwheels of joy as the bus pulled away. I’m usually the mom with a mile-long list of all the things she was going to do that first day to celebrate being free at last to do them, at her own pace, without interruptions, to the soundtrack of her own choosing (Hello, ABBA! God, how I missed you!), all while singing along at the top of her lungs.

But today, I don’t feel like singing (though I probably will, something like “Slipping Through My Fingers,” or “All By Myself,” à la Bridget Jones). I don’t feel like doing anything on my list; all I feel like doing is crawling back into bed.

So, as I often do, I’m turning to my writing to try to work this thing out (and maybe kick start some productivity in the process). Mea culpa, dear readers.

It’s been one hour since they left for school, and yes, I miss my kids already. I’m also, I’m embarrassed to admit, worrying about them as much on this first day back to school as I did on the days when they each began kindergarten: Are they making new friends? Are their teachers being cool? Will they eat enough at lunch? Did we get the right supplies? What if they forget their locker combinations? Did I tell them everything they needed to know?

What the hell is wrong with me? What a sap I have become.

It’s just that summer went by so fast this year. We did cross off a lot of summer bucket-list items, but there are things I still wanted to say to them before they left. Of course, they’re things we’ve taught them all their lives, but they’re important things. They’re things that bear repeating; things I hope they’ll remember; things I hope they’ll do every day at school [hell, everywhere, and for the rest of their lives]; things I really want them to know, like—

Be kind.

Be respectful.

Be patient.

Be open-minded.

Be helpful.

Use your time wisely.

Work hard.

Play hard.

Rest hard.

Take turns—yes, that’s still something you should do as an adult, and yes, some adults still haven’t learned it, as you can see at any traffic circle or construction merge.

Stand up for yourself.

Stand up for others.

Take responsibility for your actions.

Practice the art of compromise, but don’t let people take advantage of you.

Swimming with the current may get you places faster and easier. Sometimes that works out great, but sometimes, those places aren’t where you wanted to go. Don’t be afraid to swim against the current; it’ll be harder, but it’s worth the fight to get to where you want to be.

Give your teachers a chance. They became teachers because they wanted to help young people find success. Help them do it.

Treat others—your classmates, your friends, your teammates, random kids in the hall, teachers, custodians—exactly how you want to be treated.

Don’t accept boredom, but don’t use misbehavior—your own or others’—as a way to end it. Exploit your boredom: Engage with your teachers and with your classmates. Ask questions. Pay attention. Raise your hand.

Accept that challenges, mistakes, and downright failures are opportunities for growth—it is in how we respond to them that we learn who we are—and how strong we are.

Ask for help.

Don’t be afraid to be first.

Don’t be afraid to be last.

Don’t let what other people might think about you affect your decisions: you are the one who has to live with their consequences.

Don’t give up. Two steps forward and one step back is still forward progress.

Don’t use the accomplishments or failures of others as a yardstick for your own. You can’t do someone else’s best, you can only do your best, and you should strive for that every day.

Never tell yourself, “I already know enough.” There is no such thing.

I could, you see, go on for much longer here, but—as often happens—setting my fingers to the keyboard has already eased my soul (plus, it’s made my butt numb, my bladder full, and my coffee cup empty). And…woohoo! I just realized that there are only five more hours until the kids get home, so if I’m going to get anything on my mile-long list done today, I’d better get moving; after all, this list isn’t going to get any shorter…