Back-to-school season when no one is going back-to-school

August used to have a rhythm in my house, and it started at Kohl’s on Jonestown Road — the hunt for just the right first-day outfit. Then it was down the street to Target, supply list in hand, for the notebooks and pencils and folders and whatever oddly specific glue stick the teacher requested that year. Sometimes we’d order a backpack on Amazon, or find some other little thing that made going back feel exciting instead of dreadful.

Then came the laundry, so everything was clean and ready. The haircuts. The new shoes that absolutely could not be worn early because – obviously – they might get scuffed before the first day. And if we were lucky, one last-minute run to the beach before the school schedule swallowed us whole.

The hardest part came last: resetting the sleep schedules. The older my kids got, the harder it was to convince anyone that 1am was not a reasonable bedtime on a school night.

For a few early years, I homeschooled them, and August looked different then – hunting for curriculum they’d actually enjoy while making sure it met everything we needed for the end-of-year review. They were in early elementary, so honestly? It was easy, and it was fun. New books, new projects, so many possibilities.

But no matter what kind of school year we were walking into, one thing never changed. Every first day, they’d stand there in their carefully chosen outfits, backpacks on, and smile for the picture.

Another grade. Another year. Another first day.

I didn’t know there would eventually be a last one.

The parts I do not miss

I love my children dearly – but nostalgia has a way of editing out some important details, so let me be honest here.

I do not miss the early-morning fights to get ready. I do not miss finding out about a project at the last possible minute. I do not miss searching for the one missing shoe (or sock – where do they GO?) when we needed to leave five minutes ago. And I definitely do not miss listening to two kids fight over bathroom time like it was prime real estate.

As a single mom, back-to-school season came with an extra layer, too. Their dad had them on weekends and sometimes during the week, but I was the one keeping track of practices, rides to friends’ houses, forms that needed signing, lunch accounts that needed money, assignments that needed prepping – the whole invisible machine that keeps two kids moving through their lives. Some days it felt less like a season and more like an overwhelming struggle.

And yet.

As much as I hate a routine, a routine does wonders for me – and it did for them, too. 

Every fall felt like a fresh start. And even on the nights when a kid was telling me about their day while I was making dinner, prepping for tomorrow, and mentally running through everything that still had to happen before bed, I tried to make dinner time our time at the table. That’s where I heard about their days – the friends, the drama, the funny thing that happened in third period.

Those are the moments I miss now. Not the supply lists. Not the frantic mornings.

I miss them walking through the door and telling me the exciting parts of their day. I miss that weird “school smell” that somehow came home on them. I miss the nightly rhythm of showers and winding down after a busy day. You spend years assuming you’ll miss the big things – and then they grow up, and it turns out you miss the ordinary Tuesday nights.

And then there wasn’t another First Day

My last back-to-school season didn’t happen the way I planned. Life and relationships shifted, and that chapter of active parenting ended a few years earlier than I expected. I didn’t know it was the last one while it was happening.

Then August rolled around, and it hit me: Oh. I don’t have anyone to get ready.

A huge wave of grief came over me. No list. No outfit. No sleep schedule to wrangle. No picture to take. I had spent so many years getting my kids ready for their next chapter that I never really considered what would happen when they didn’t need me to anymore.

My daughter is in college now, and I still try to pick up things for her back-to-college season – but for the most part, she’s got it handled. I’m so proud of her. 

That’s the strange math of parenting adult children: they don’t need me to manage them anymore. But they still need – and want – me to be there.

August looks different now

These days I can walk through the school supply aisle without the sting. Actually, now I look at all those ridiculously cheap supplies and think, Ooooh – what could I make with THAT? Apparently school supplies become craft supplies when you’re an empty nester. Who knew.

I see the buses practicing their routes and feel deeply grateful I work from home and won’t be stuck behind them. I see parents posting first-day pictures and I smile – though I’ll admit those photos still stir up a complicated cocktail of feelings. Relieved, nostalgic, sad, grateful. Sometimes all four at once.

Mostly, I think about how fast it all went.

Maybe I’m the one going back to school

Here’s what I’ve come to realize this August: for years, back-to-school season was about preparing my kids for whatever came next. Maybe now it’s my turn.

At 44, I feel like I’m working through a whole new curriculum. I’m learning about partnership. About receiving. About slowing down. About trusting my adult kids to navigate their own lives. About letting go, saying yes, having fun, building a career that excites me – and figuring out who Beth is when nobody needs a permission slip signed.

And there’s plenty I’m excited about this fall that has nothing to do with a school calendar. My relationship. My work. Trips. New projects. Although I’m not a fan of cooler weather, the glorious return of my oversized cardigans make up for it.

There’s a whole life happening on this side of active parenting. I just couldn’t see it back when I was standing in Target holding a supply list.

To the mom buying the glue sticks

If you’re standing in a store right now with three kids melting down while holding a list that inexplicably requires four different kinds of glue sticks – I’m not going to tell you to cherish every moment. Some moments objectively suck. Some mornings are hard. Some seasons are exhausting. You’re allowed to say so.

But I will tell you this:

You won’t miss all of this someday. But you might be surprised by what you do miss.

It probably won’t be the big milestones. It might be the backpack dumped where it didn’t belong. The kid talking your ear off while you make dinner. The first-day picture. The missing shoe. The ordinary Tuesday night when everyone you love was under the same roof.

And when those days end – earlier than you planned, or right on time – it’s okay to grieve them. I did.

For years, August meant standing behind my kids, getting them ready for whatever came next. This year, there are no backpacks by my door. No outfits laid out. No supply list on the counter.

But something new is beginning anyway.

Because when their next chapter begins, yours does too.