The first day of school

Today was the first day of the new school year for Sarah and Scott. For the first time, they're both in upper school, a situation that is almost certainly weirder for them than it is for me--and it's plenty weird for me.

As has been our tradition since the first time they went off to a school--pre-pre-school, a half-day, not-every-weekday affair--I drove them to school. When they were young, I'd hold their hands, walk them to their classrooms, and stand with them as they mustered the courage to wade into the milling crowd that would soon enough settle down into a class of students. My heart would hurt for them as they faced the rough emotional hurdle of confronting their new classmates.

As they grew older, they'd say goodbye from the car and walk on their own. The first time they did that, even though I knew the day would come, my heart felt as if it would break.

Now, of course, even though I am positive they're nervous, they hop out of the car, grab their incredibly heavy backpacks, and walk into school without a look back. And my heart still feels as if it will break as I drive away.

I'm really quite lucky, though. They don't act embarrassed to have me drop them off, nor generally do they act embarrassed of me. This morning, before we got in the car, I hugged them both, told each of them, "I love you," and they said the same. Those hugs and those words are the best gifts they could ever give me.

And still my heart hurts to watch them go. I suppose it always will, each and every time they leave, even when I know that leaving is exactly what they should be doing. I even suppose it should hurt.

I have the best kids in the world, and I'm grateful for them and my luck in having them.