One Flew Over...Something...Somewhere

As many of you know, Sophie went from homeschooling to public school this year, back in February. That was a very gut-wrenching decision for us. Well, OK, for me. She was thrilled to be trying something new. I, on the other hand, have not handled it so well. I've tried. Lord knows I've tried. I am happy for her, supportive of her, attentive to her change in circumstances, and always rooting for her. (I am also doing Lamaze when no one's looking to keep the pain at bay, but that's another story.) One of the things Sophie was desperate to try was riding the school bus. Heaven only knows what she finds so glamorous about riding a school bus, but she does. Bottom line. So I found out that her bus stop is a few houses away, barely visible from my vantage point. Speaking of vantage points: I knew good and well that accompanying her to the bus stop was strictly out of the question. That falls under over-protective to an embarrassing degree, and I knew better than to suggest it. I held firm to standing on the front steps, however, and I wouldn't go back inside until the bus came, the kids loaded on, and the bus drove away. In February, as we all know, it's pitch black at 6:25 a.m. and I felt perfectly justified in letting my presence be known, in all my turquoise-terry-robe-covered glory. I wanted passersby to see that I meant business, no one was going to mess with my kid at the bus stop. I was a safe, responsible parent. Then it got lighter and lighter in the mornings and I started to feel a little silly. Responsible is one things. Showing people exactly what I look like in the light at 6:25 a.m. is another. So I began watching Sophie from my bedroom window. We have a little alcove off our room, just above the front door, and I could see her beautifully almost all the way to the bus stop. There are three other kids with her in the mornings, all boys, and although I knew two of them pretty well and they think of her as a sister, still....

Well, then the time change happened. Back in darkness. I stayed in my little alcove, though. I guess the bus driver thought I'd finally given up and joined the ranks of millions of parents who stay in bed while their precious first-born wanders into the darkness alone, surrounded by God only knows what dangers. (Whoa, steady...steady...) Trying not to hyperventilate. So I still kept watch over her. And then spring came.

We have two trees in our front yard, a dogwood and a huge Bradford pear. Vile smelling thing it is, too, that Bradford. Anyway, when that thing bloomed it completely blocked my view of Sophie as she crossed the street and ventured out into the world. Now, this was not something I'd reckoned on. I'd sort of forgotten about that whole blooming-in-the-spring thing. All I could see of Sophie now was her crossing the lawn and stopping at the edge of the road to look both ways. From there she vanished behind a *&^%$ green curtain. I would stay at the window, opened wide and my face pressed against the screen, listening for any possible sounds of trouble from, oh, say, 50 yards [pointing] thataway.

It's weary work, being this vigilant. Or maybe anal is a better word for it. Over-protective, paranoid, anal worrier are other good words. And then when the bus pulls away with my heart riding somewhere on it, I say a deeply-felt prayer for her protection and success in the day. And THEN I go back to bed. Not surprisingly, it's hard to go back to sleep.

The last couple of mornings while I waited for Sophie's bus to arrive I've noticed what I think are the same two birds on our lawn. They are robins, and we must have some pretty tasty worms in our yard because those birds get BUSY. And they always fly up into the dogwood. I think they must be setting up a nest in there somewhere. They wander into other yards occasionally but they always come back, pick a few bugs here and there, and then back they go into the dogwood. I looked up in there today and saw a few places where they'd obviously tested the engineering soundness and feasibility and found them lacking. Bits of fuzz, string, and other assortments hung here and there like a poor man's Christmas tree. Maybe they're newlyweds and don't know any better. (Been there, done that.) Hopefully they will keep at it until some nice branch meets their standards. As I watched these birds work themselves into an early grave, I thought about their chicks that would surely come sooner or later, and how they would learn to fly. I thought about Sophie flying this year as she's met a whole bucketful of new challenges. Granted, it's not like I threw her out on the streets, but you have to admit, her little world has turned upside down in the last few months. We've moved, she left me and went into a school where I figure very little, she has different teachers, a different schedule, different friends, etc. She's learning new things, and she jumped a whole year ahead in math. And she made the B Honor Roll this past quarter. I think it's pretty clear that she is flying. I know this would have happened sooner or later, but I just didn't think it would be this soon. What makes it worthwhile, what keeps me from thinking this has all been a horrible mistake, is the look on her face. She is happy. She is proud of herself. She is productive and learning independence. She's doing exactly what she was meant to do. And I guess that's what makes birds fly.