There is not remotely enough waterproof mascara for this week. Or comfort food. Or comfort adult beverages. Or rolls of Costco toilet paper masquerading as tissue.
Tomorrow would have been our last day of school. Our lovely little 1950s school building is getting a facelift and remodel, adding space for kids to be creative, better flow to the building as a whole, and an office with a window for me in the actual office (this is huge…trust me.)
Earlier this week, we would have had our little ones’ continuation ceremony on to first grade and our eighth graders’ continuation ceremony to move on to high school. And we would have had field day on the very last day, with a clapping out of our graduates and everyone moving up a level, and all the chaos that comes with dismissal on the last day of school. And a teacher dance party in the gym when all the kids had gone home with families.
I remember thinking that I would have these last-day-of-school moments every year like they do in the movies, with touching monologues by kids or others, and music in the background to match all the feelings in the scene.
I’ve yet to have that sort of ending to a school year. The first year, my classroom looked like a bomb went off inside, with left-behind papers, books, extra materials, and chairs and tables askew and filthy with leftover BBQ fingerprints from little siblings. I learned after that year that being OCD about cleanup and routines is a good thing–brings a sense of sanity to an insane day.
This year will be heart-wrenching.
End of year assembly by Google Meet.
Virtual ceremonies for little ones and ceremonies still up in the air for our 8th graders.
It ain’t right, I tell you.
And my babies who are graduating high school, this was the first year I would have been able to go to see graduation because we were already out…and theirs are all either virtual or up in the air too.
I never really thought that ceremonies mattered, but they do. It’s a closure–the bridge between one phase of life and another.
And I’m not sure how we can share in that closure together remotely and do it justice. And that hurts. You can remind me all you want about safety and how important it is to take these precautions–I agree it’s necessary–but it doesn’t make it any easier…
None of this is remotely easy.