I need to start writing again.

Right now, I write out of committment or obligation. For instance, I told an editor of an online magazine that I would have an article to her by yesterday. So now I must finish it, with haste, to make good my word.

I don't write for me, much, anymore. 

I'm missing the moments and milestones. Forgetting to document the change of smell in the seasons. The upheaval of plans or the change of personal beliefs and I feel like this chapter in my life is flying by and if I blink it will be gone and I'll have no rememberance. 

I need to start writing again.

My oldest son started First Grade yesterday. He was meant to start earlier in the week, but an emergency appedectomy the Saturday afternoon before school was to start sidelined him in recovery for almost a week. But, remarkably, kids bounce back.  Before a full week was out he'd played a soccer game, rode over a mile on his bike, and yes, started first grade.

I'm terrified of full-day school. I remember growing up as a homeschooled kid who heard of the horrors of the poor children who were forced to sit in desks and do, gasp, busy work for EIGHT HOURS A DAY! My heart broke a little bit as I dropped my son off on Friday. "You sure you're ready?" I must have asked him ten times. But without hesitation he jumped into his little line and followed his teacher into a year of learning. And with a great big faith I believe it really is where he's supposed to be. I see him blossom and grow when he's surrounded by peers with equal wonderment at the world their exploring. And his teacher seems amazing - I think Christian stands to learn so much from him.

I never want to shelter my kids from situations just because they are unfamiliar to me. I want to believe that there is more than I have learned, bigger than I have experienced, greater than I have imagined, so much for them to grasp hold of and enjoy. I want them to have big world views full of different ideas and to question everything and to find their Truth. And I want them to be fully secure in the knowledge that when they do come home (after SIX AND A HALF HOURS A DAY!) from school they walk into a home where they will always be accepted, always challenged, always appreciated, always respected, always encouraged, always affirmed, and always always loved. And I want that to be the current that carries them through their day.

Happy First Grade, Son. You're gonna rock it!

(I'd post a picture of him on the first day, be he declined to have his photo taken in front of the school and insists the photo that I did take at home looks "dumb and my face is all shadowy".)

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