Four

I can't believe it's already time to start planning next year.  Normally I love the planning process.  After all, what we're doing next year is full of untapped potential and unmarred expectations.  Next year, I'll be the best teacher, my health will be great, and my students will be willing, right?

Luke will be 9th grade.  High School.  My emotions and thoughts run from "I've got this under control" to complete denial.  My complete denial, though, isn't that I'm not equipped or prepared to teach and guide him through high school.  Sure, there's a bit of panic when I think of messing something up when it comes to his transcript, but mostly my denial comes in when I think about the fact we've only got 4 years of schooling left.

Four.

He was four when I started teaching him to read.  He's the boy that first made me realize that little boys could either sit still or they could listen, but they could not do both simultaneously.  He's born the brunt of my mistakes as a Mom and teacher, and he's somehow still turning into a fine young man.

I know that I'm going to blink, and these next four years will be gone.  I know there will be unexpected joys as he grows into a man--just like when he was four I couldn't imagine how much I would love watching him be a fabulous big brother at 13 or how in awe I'd feel when he came to me telling me the success he's had with some aspect of computer programming.

I just wish there was a way to slow time down.  Right now, I'm going back into denial that I need to plan for high school.