First World Problems

It’s the first day of school.  There are two schools of thought on this.  There are the parents who have been waiting for this moment all summer...longing for it...  They can’t wait until those kids get on the bus.  Back to routine, back out of everyone’s hair.

And then there are the rest of us.  We’ve taken the first day photo and immediately scrambled into the house to upload the picture, emotional, tears everywhere, all the while looking into the eyes of those amazing children we have raised, trying to will everything in their lives to turn out ok, trying to embalm them with some invisible protective shield that resists playground bullies, pedophiles, fatal diseases, their own bad decisions, and a host of other unmentionable terrors that surely await them in the world..  We’ve dug through the old photos and found their little faces staring back at us, all innocent and full of promise and hope and we remember that back then we thought we could make more of a difference than we did.  We meant for it all to be easier.  To be more functional and stable.  But, still, we’re proud.  We tried our best, right?  Damn, but we love them.

We’ve uploaded that first day photo onto various social networking sights, hoping people will support us, will have words to help us feel connected to something, anything, but this wretched anxiety and loss.  But truthfully, we are just sitting alone, wondering how in the name of all that is good and decent did we even get here?

Weren’t they all just taking a bath together with “Wacky Watermelon” body wash, and making “beards” out of the soapy bubbles in the tub?  When did they stop running their adorable little naked buns down by the fireplace where I had carefully laid out their pajamas so they could get warm?  On days like these, I always remember the day I walked out of the grocery store, three very young kids in tow, and an ‘older’ woman stopped me and said she’s give anything to have those days back.  I’ve never forgotten her and now I really, truly, get it.

Yes, I realize these are first world problems.  I know that there are moms elsewhere in the world who are holding their children while they die of starvation, who are kissing their child goodbye as they board a boat or plane which will take them away from a lifetime of military regime and give them a shot at a real education and life.  I am aware that I am a spoiled, suburban mom to even get the opportunity to sit at the kitchen counter searching for my anxiety medication and pushing off endless duties I ‘should’ be doing so that I can mourn and look at these pictures and write in my fucking blog.

But, I guess we all have our perspective.  And out here in Suburbia, the melancholy is thicker than the morning fog.