The End of an Era

Here is my boy, in his graduation get-up. He is trying out his new duds (searsucker pants, a button down shirt, and an argyle vest) and sporting his graduation sash, minus the various decorations that now adorn it.

He has been practicing for weeks--walking the graduation walk to Pomp and Circumstance, sitting quietly with his knees together and his hands folded while the teachers call out students' names, singing "It's a Small World," and letting loose with a dance to "You Turn My Head Right Round." (a great song with a strong backbeat and a dirty message that we are hoping neither the pre-schoolers nor the grandparents will pick up on)

I have been waiting for this day to come forever, and it is time to leave. But it does wrap up 5 1/2 sweet years at our local cooperative.

The coop has changed our lives.

I remember when a neighbor/friend from the paper told us about it, describing the parents as Boho and cool. "Wow," I thought. "That is what I want to be." The truth was, at the time I was a corporate journalist working unpredictable and long hours. I longed to be a co-op mama hanging out in funky boots and cleaning bathrooms with a colorful bandana around my head, sipping coffee and laughing with other boho mamas who loved to sing and do crafts and grow vegetables.

I wanted to be part of this vision of motherhood and toddlerhood sooo badly that I used to sneak out of the office at the LA Times on unspecified assignments so I could take Theo to Mommy and Me classes way back when he was 18 months old!

Of course it didn't turn out quite as I imagined. But I do have some funky cowboy boots, I sip a lot of coffee in the sunshine, I have done endless crafts with preschoolers (to the point where I almost hate toddler crafts) and I have sung a lot of silly songs. I planned field trips for a year, and I was president for a year.

I leave this school with so much gratefulness in my heart.

We have weathered crazy dramas and parental feuds, a suicide and a firing.

But my children have been raised by a village--really. They have been loved by many adults, and been part of a community. They have learned to pitch in, clean up, contribute, share. I have learned to parent, from our amazing teachers Celia and Adina, and from the other parents I worked beside every Monday. And I have been moved and astounded by the sacrifices of these parents, many of whom have chosen to live in small houses and apartments, to drive only one car, to not take vacations--so that one parent could be with the children.

When I first encountered this approach to motherhood (and fatherhood--there are a lot of great dads here) I was so overcome and shocked after my nanny and child-care centric L A Times reporter view of the world, it made me want to write a book. How did they do it? How did they hold their own against a world that does not value motherhood, or any of the decisions they were making?

These mothers really helped me in my restless and desperate search for a version of motherhood that felt good to me.

I am restless again now, and ready to work again, come Fall. I am happy to send my Benja off to kindergarten in September.

But tomorrow I will cry as my boy walks the walk, and reminisce as I eat white cake from Porto's with whipped cream filling, strawberries and bananas.

An era is ending.

But I am deeply, profoundly thankful for Canyon School, for its teachers, parents, and children, and for all their love and lessons.