The changing of the seasons

I always get nostalgic around fall. If you search my archives, you’ll see many fall related posts. (Only about half of which reference Tolkien and how I wish I’d been born on the 22nd instead of the 23rd. I digress.) And these last few fall days have been glorious ones indeed. We went to King Richard’s Faire. The first of the drought-strained leaves are beginning to fall. After a squishy, humid summer the air is beginning to have a crisper bite to it.

But that’s not the season to which I refer.

Was he ever so little?
Was he ever so little?

For the last, um, seven or so years of my life, 8 am and 6 pm have found me at the old box factory between Gould and Pleasant Streets – the location of the Stoneham YMCA Child Care center. Daycare, then preschool, then summer camp, followed by afterschool. This awesome center has been a huge part of my life for years and years. They’ve always taken great care of my kids, and have loved them, even when they were perhaps not incredibly lovable. (See also: Thane at 4.) They took my kids to swimming lesson. They figured out a way to work in ski lessons (which was amazing). They got the kids outside every nice day, running off excess energy. I’ve always known my kids were safe and well taken care of.

But Grey is on the verge of aging out. He certainly doesn’t need the super high levels of supervision and rigor that the Y provides. And suddenly this year, the “pack” of kids has shifted from the Y to the very nice but much less hands-on other alternative in town. The kids really want to go where their friends go. And the fact that the other after school program is much less expensive is also nice.* So…. I finally worked out all the logistics to switch the kids. (Which, just putting out there, was not a simple thing to figure out.)

Grey is in middle school this year. He’s signed up for some afterschool clubs (Ultimate Frisbee & Drama – two clubs he’s excellently well suited for). He is beginning to own his own schedule after school. He walks to the afterschool, and walks home from the afterschool if he chooses to. This seems both natural and right, and absolutely astonishing.

It feels like there should be a ceremony. You should have to bake a cake for all the people who watched your children for so long. You should have to write a letter saying how much it’s meant to you. You should have another graduation, or something. It doesn’t quite seem right that one day they got on the bus like they have practically their whole life… and the next day they don’t. But there it is. I have expressed my extreme gratitude to the Y for their awesomeness. But it doesn’t seem quite enough.

I’ll miss the Y a ton. But I’m proud of the fine young men my sons are turning into!

*Being ambiguous for security reasons. If you want to know more about it, feel free to send me a message.

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Brenda currently lives in Stoneham MA, but grew up in Mineral WA. She is surrounded by men, with two sons, one husband and two boy cats. She plays trumpet at church, cans farmshare produce and works in software.

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