There is something magical about Back to School. I know the world at large views New Year’s Eve as a time for reflection, resolution making, and a plan for starting over, but ever since that first taste of back-to-school shopping at the start of first grade, I’ve been hooked. I had my hunter green, smocked bodice dress with the inexplicable Strawberry Shortcake brooch fastened tight, blue plastic Peanut Gang lunchbox safely tucked inside my no-nonsense purple backpack, and I was ready for all the year would bring. I held my head up high, rounded the corner, and marched right through the brick red double-doors toward inevitable success.
“Look out, Mrs. Thompson, Jenny is here!”
Every year. I lived for it. While my siblings would be dragging their feet towards People’s Drug like it was a death row march, I was that kid who LIVED for brand new pencils. Notebooks. FOLDERS WITH KITTENS YES PLEASE. Scented markers? Oh heck yes. I even liked that weird turquoise one. I got high — probably figuratively as well as literally — from the black licorice and watermelon. (And the cherry….the cinnamon….I’m getting the shakes just thinking about all that fumey goodness)
Coupled with my word nerdery, it’s no wonder I became a teacher. I adored setting up my classroom, organizing the folders, binders, reading stations, art supplies, you name it. I maxed out every supply budget allowed. I ordered posters from the Library of Congress with reckless abandon. Every year, it was a fresh start. A new beginning. New kids, new classes, new parents, new books, new, new, new. The possibilities were ENDLESS.
A new year is beginning, and while I am home with my babies instead of outfitting my trapper keeper or designing seating charts, I am feeling this fresh start.
I’m ready to accomplish all the things.
I can feel my heart racing in anticipation of the endless possibilities.
And maybe I should ease up on the coffee.
wasted wit 