Three First Days

Lulu ended the summer Monday. I placed the uniform on her piece by piece. As the layers grew, she excitedly flapped her arms like a nestling. A deep rolling "Challenger School" escaped her unrestrained smile again and again. She will be fine. School suits her. It's possible that her teacher loves her. And teaches her Spanish. It's only a few hours after all.



Abram started Tuesday. He has been asking if "school is today" all summer. On Monday, at dinner, his large brown eyes fringed with drooping black lashes locked on me. I recognize those eyes. There is a long line of them in variations. Who had them 300 years ago? Were they able to look as sad as Abrams? Will they exist 200 years from now on another little boy? They will be unattributable to what is now and what has passed.
He looks at me and asks, mom will you watch me at school, I'm scared. He seems younger than my others. He probably is-a little lost in the shuffle.
You cannot wet your pants at school, I say. He nods his head, again the big brown eyes. I pick him up, smiling. He says he played games. He sits in his car seat. I get him out and he's wet. I waited until after school he says.



Norah began on Wednesday at a brand-new-directly-across-the-street-already-overcrowded elementary school. We leave the front door and walk down the street.



We all walk together. Somehow the dog has followed. I feel a bit melancholy. Norah isn't so little. She has legitimate fears and time moves quickly without time to appreciate it's passing. I wonder how I got here, at this cross-walk in suburbia. Did I make these choices? I vaguely remember bits.



Norah reminds me. As she changes I change. As her body becomes stronger and more able mine becomes weaker and more tired. She walks in and I turn to face the hill back. I find my son's lost hand and it's like a Carly Simon or Joni Mitchell song. The baby climbs up my hip and the dog barely escapes the wheel of a tractor trailer. I washed my hands of that dog years ago. There are no clouds yet it feels a little unclear. We leave our shoes on the front porch and I sweep the kitchen floor.