It’s August so I’m fretting about summer ending, but this year the feelings are bigger and more complicated because of the (almost) year and a half we’ve had. Adjusting to having everyone at home took four to six weeks at the start of the pandemic, and I’ve used that memory as an anchor when faced with a potentially undesirable change – just give it four to six weeks and it will all seem normal – and I’m telling myself that now, but I don’t feel ready for everyone to go back to school.

This week the kids are at day camp and it’s an abrasive reminder of what it’s going to be like to have to pack lunches and backpacks and leave the house at a designated hour every goddamn day. I’ve loved our slow mornings, I’ve loved not having to get anyone anywhere on time, but mostly I’ve loved sharing a space with them and having the opportunity to watch the way they grow and learn and choose to spend their time when it isn’t being stolen from them by school. And I love their school, but after this year it’s hard to believe that they truly need to be there for seven hours a day.