Enrolled

I am still subscribing to a yahoo group email called "unpreschool". I still consider the community the boys' (and my) classroom. And I am still weighing if I am one of those parents who just keeps on doing what has worked from birth -- and not being in school when the magical age approaches. But today I enrolled the boys in a nursery school for 3 hours, twice a week. This is one of those decisions that a year from now will pale in comparison to something else, but in the moment, it was momentous. There have been many tears shed, words garbled, and words clearly spoken as I worked out with Ryan whether to keep on with our life as is, or to find a way to have some space between the boys and me. But today I signed a contract to bring them back each Tue and Thur the school is open (and we are in town), or at least pay for their spots. Another girl, Gracie, also started today.

It was with grace that I filled out the enrollment forms and left the boys (with just a tousle of the hair -- they fit right into the circle and the discussion on whether or not they wanted to go to space) but I cried part of the way home. Perhaps it was the visit to the elementary school this morning, one of the options for the magical age. Or maybe it is realizing I had to change courses from what I thought would be a preschool-free childhood, something different, something home grown.

When I arrived home, the house was empty for just a minute. My mom had been shopping at Trader Joe's after watching the boys while Ryan and I toured the school. We put on ski clothes and headed to the closest trail, driving right past the the nursery school. We hadn't skied together in 7 years. Mom's face flushed with joy as she eased into the trail on her vintage (aka, garage sale) wooden skis. The snow was tacky at spots as the sun warmed it from behind a cloud. I passed the tracks the boys and I made yesterday -- the h's and a's and an r we tracked out in the empty field. The spot Elliott first learned to get up on his own two feet. As I made the last curve I remembered the spot where Rob's beard had frozen a month ago. A month from now, that spot may be a mucky trail of recovering grass; hopefully, though, it will be a place I will ski past on a Tue or Thur afternoon as I'm looping around the course and the boys are discussing space, or dinosaurs, or sea creatures with their new friends and teachers.