back to school

Back to school last week, and with the return, a new season of life for our family.

Jason’s teaching now at Stoughton High and we are very aware of the miracle this is, finding a job in the current employment climate. The commute is changing our life here on the South Shore—he’s now driving 10-15 minutes each way instead of 45-90 minutes to Lynn. Now I get to see him in the mornings, and he’s here in the afternoons for the boys’ homework marathons…such a wonderful change for our family.

Orilus has begun 7th grade, moving from the upper elementary school in our town to the junior-senior high. He’s made the move in typical Orilus fashion—without fanfare, with an aura of coolness, and with hilarious amounts of entitlement. He’s playing for the JV soccer team there, and for the first time today will be riding the bus with his team to his first game—45 minutes away at a high school near Rhode Island. Mom is trying to breathe as her little boy grows up.

Jackson’s started 6th grade, the top of the heap at the upper elementary school. He’s handled the change to a junior high schedule (changing classes, keeping a binder) in his typical way—lots of anxiety masked with quiet. He’ll be playing some town soccer this fall, and mostly, I think, hanging out with Moriah as much as he can. She is, hands down, the joy of his heart.

The changes for the boys have brought a new and better tenor to our household. Orilus now leaves a ½ hour earlier to walk to school in the mornings, giving me some precious time with Jackson and Moriah and taking away the competitiveness and mean spiritedness that had sometimes crept into a morning-before-school with the boys. Orilus gets home a ½ hour earlier, giving me time to hear about his day and help him organize his binder and homework before he goes out to play before he actually does his homework. When Jackson walks in the door from biking home, Orilus is outside, and I get more time with Jackson to hear about his day, check his homework agenda. I’m feeling like these gifts of time one-on-one with each of them have a lot of potential to help them to settle in to their new routines this year, and to continue to help them to learn how to be family.

I’ve also begun a new schedule this week. Tuesday nights I’m teaching a CAGs (post-master’s) class at UMass Boston. Thursday nights I’m taking a class, returning after a year leave to my doctoral program. Saturday mornings I’m teaching a writing course at Massasoit Community College. That, plus working a few hours a week for my professor (she’s publishing a book this year) and working with Gordon College to launch a new course in urban education…these are my fun projects for the semester. Somehow, I’m going to fit my homework, lecture prep, and work with my professor into Moriah’s life, which so far includes daily therapies of all kinds with me, 3-6 appointments a week, and general joy, laughter, and fun. It’s not a bad life, to be home all day with Moriah and still have time to do things outside of family that I love, too.

Mostly, I’m feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude. A year ago, we were counting Moriah’s respirations per minute, watching her gasp for air, listening to fluid build in her lungs and her heart fail. A year ago, we were anticipating open heart surgery. Thoughts of academia—a return to a career, or to a doctoral program—seemed so far removed that they made me laugh (or cry) bitterly. Last night, driving to UMass, I wanted to pinch myself. To think that such pain brought such joy, that such anxiety planted seeds of peace, that such grief grew into new avenues of work and living and health. A year ago, I would have mocked anyone who told me that God could do such a thing, could make something good out of a year that was suddenly so awful. Last night, I could have pinched myself, it seemed so unbelievable. That’s grace, I suddenly thought. So surreal. So. Grace.