Transitions Are Hard 

There’s transition in the air. I feel it in my bones. It’s like watching the crest of the wave you are eagerly waiting to ride to shore. Our ride will be long, and hopefully as fun as crashing New England ocean waves.

Everyone goes to school this September. There are no more babies at home. I’m going to write more about those feels, but not yet, because I’m not ready. This mama heart isn’t ready, yet. I have three weeks.

We finalized our OT schedule for the school year. They are signed up for fancy ballet and private music lessons. (These things bring me great joy.) Their physical forms have been returned to school. I ordered my own text books, confirmed my funding, and plan on using my wit to bypass the riddiculous parking arrangements of UConn in Hartford.

There is an insatiable insanity that forms around the beginning of a new academic year. I have spent a decade on the academic calendar, and the beginning never fails to sweep me up in its promise, potential, unwavering demand and high expectation.

There’s a transition on the horizon. Transitions are super hard. It’s a statement I make often. I desperately try to respect the delicate nature of change. The beginning of an academic year leaves little time for this; intellectual pursuit, and teaching and learning are calling us away from the stillness of summer. From ballet slippers to the delicious smell of new textbooks, we set forth at the end of August with the promise of changing lives, and learning all the great new things.

New is hard. Transitions are hard. A new academic year is on the horizon… and my whole life is about to look different. I’ll finish grad school this year, and there are no more babies at home.

Be kind, fall. We have a lot to learn.

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