Why Many Parents Aren’t Happy Their Kids Are Back In School (And What Helps)
I leaned against my dented SUV in the school pickup line last Friday, half a cold coffee in one hand, kicking a stray neon soccer sock that had blown into the gutter, when the mom next to me said it out loud: “I’m not actually happy they’re back. I thought I would be, but I’m not.”
I nodded, because I’d been saying that same thing to my husband every night that week, even after I’d posted the cutesy first day photo with the generic joke about “finally, quiet” on Instagram. My two boys are 7 and 10, and this summer was messy in the way that all good, unplanned summers are. We woke up whenever someone rolled out of bed, built lopsided forts out of couch cushions and my old moving boxes, ate popsicles for breakfast on the porch when our air conditioner broke for three days, fought over screen time, and napped on the couch together when everyone got too cranky to keep going. I complained constantly. I texted my sister every other day saying I couldn’t get any work done, I needed them to go back to school, I was so ready for routine. By the week before school started, I’d already bought new folders, labeled every water bottle, and packed backpacks the night before, giddy at the thought of my schedule back.
First day drop off went fine. I waved, didn’t even cry. I drove home, made myself a fancy oat milk latte, sat down at my desk to get three hours of uninterrupted work done. And I just sat there. The house was too quiet. Their half-built fort was still leaning against the TV, crumbs of Goldfish crackers scattered on the rug, a half-finished coloring book open on the couch. I’d craved quiet for three months, but when I got it, I didn’t know what to do with it.
Sarah, the mom who spoke up in the pickup line, has an oldest starting sixth grade at the new middle school across town. This is the first year he refused to let her walk him into the building. He met his friends at the corner two blocks from the entrance and waved her off before they even got close. She stood there for 15 minutes after he left, just watching him walk away, then got in her car and cried. She said all her friends were posting memes about popping wine at 9 a.m. and running errands alone, and she felt stupid admitting she just misses him being around the house, even when he’s driving her crazy.
The narrative we see everywhere is that all parents are counting down the days until back to school, dancing in the supermarket aisles when that first day hits. If you admit you’re not jumping for joy, you get side-eye. People assume you don’t need a break, or you’re too clingy, or you’re holding your kid back. But feelings don’t work that way. You can be thrilled to have two uninterrupted hours to answer emails, and sad that your kid isn’t leaning over your shoulder every five minutes asking you to watch them do a cartwheel. You can be relieved that they’re making friends and learning new things, and a little grieving that the slow, messy summer days are gone for another year. No feeling cancels the other out.
I’ve tried a few small things these past two weeks that have helped, that don’t take much time or money to pull off. First, I stopped pretending I feel something I don’t. Instead of forcing a happy caption for social media, I texted three of my mom friends after that first quiet day at home and said, “I thought I’d be happy school started, but I’m kind of sad. Anyone else?” Two wrote back immediately saying they felt the exact same way. One was even sitting in her car in the grocery store parking lot crying about it. We got coffee together after drop off the next day, and just talked about it, no fixing, no judging. That took way more weight off than forcing a happy face ever did.
Second, I kept one small slow summer habit for myself instead of packing all of it away. This summer we had an 8 a.m. popsicle break on the porch every day, no matter what. Now, after I drop the kids off and get home, I still grab a cherry popsicle from the freezer, sit on the porch for 10 minutes, and don’t check my email or write my to-do list. It’s just 10 minutes of that same unrushed summer feeling, that doesn’t have to disappear just because the school year started. It’s tiny, but it keeps me from feeling like I have to rush from one thing to the next immediately after walking in the door.
Third, for the parts I miss with the kids, I made tiny compromises that fit their growing independence. My 10 year old says he’s too old for me to walk him to the bus stop with the younger kids, but we agreed I can walk 10 steps behind him, far enough that his friends don’t tease him, close enough that we can still chat about what he’s excited for that day before he gets on the bus. It’s not the same as when he was 5 and held my hand the whole way, but it’s our new version, and it works. Sarah does something similar: she leaves a sticky note with a dumb inside joke on her middle schooler’s laptop every night, no response required, just a small hello when he doesn’t want to hug her goodbye in front of friends.
This week, I still get that little ache in my chest when I walk in the house after drop off and it’s too quiet. I still forget what to do with myself for the first 10 minutes some days. I’m also grateful for the time to get work done, for the fact that my kids run to the door to meet their friends every morning, for the routine that keeps all of us from falling apart by the end of the week. No one talks about how both things can be true. You don’t have to pick being happy school started, or sad the summer ended. It’s okay to feel both. Last night, I found my 7 year old’s favorite popsicle stick that he decorated at the lake this summer, tucked between the couch cushions. I stuck it to the fridge. Some days that’s all you can do: hold onto the small stuff, and let yourself feel whatever you feel.
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