If you missed the ads in between the political spots, it’s back-to-school time. I have no idea why January, February, and March can’t go by as fast as June, July, and August, but they don’t. It’s a cruel cosmic mystery. My 17-year-old son, Nick, is a senior this year. This is impossible to fathom.

I will preview this column by whining that my children didn’t do school according to my best-laid plans. My visions of the epic photos and experiences from the first days of school, dress-up days, prom, etc., all went up in smoke. Will and Nick were not interested in any of that business. They went to school, they came home, and they roped. The rest was just unnecessary fluff.

Will, now 20 and a sophomore in college, convinced me to let him do high school online for the last two and a half years. His rationale was solid; his study habits and time management were not. By the grace of a higher power, he graduated about three days before the deadline in late July. No cap and gown for him. Then he decided about a week before it started that he would attend Western Oklahoma State College. Four days later, we were caravanning south to move him in, signing him up for classes, arranging financial aid, going to orientation, and classes started three days later. Stressed? Me? What? When I returned home, I was just beginning to process that my firstborn was in college, fifteen hours away. There was no time for a meltdown.

When Will was little, we made the management decision that he would start kindergarten at six years old. He was born in early June and was still an excellent napper. I planned the same for his younger brother, born three years later in early June. When Nick was five, we were at a friend’s house having dinner on Friday before school started. One of the guests was a good friend and principal of Big Horn Elementary. Nick wandered through the room, and Brent turned to me, asking if I’d consider putting Nick in kindergarten now. I looked at him like he’d grown two heads. He knew I planned to enroll Nick at Meadowlark next year. I had a whole year to get used to the idea that my second and final was headed to school. I did not want to be rushed.

Brent went into sales mode. He had a new, brilliant kindergarten teacher for a second class and needed a few more students. Think of the money I’d be saving on daycare! The Y bus would take him back to town after school! I could think of it as pre-K because I could still enroll him in kindergarten at Meadowlark the next year without all the social baggage. It was a win-win! How do you argue with that kind of logic? So before I could work myself into any kind of a crying jag over my baby headed off to school, he was gone to Big Horn.

Nick’s year at Big Horn Elementary provided stories we still repeat with frequency. There’s nothing quite like your pal calling you at work with the greeting, “Hello, Mrs. Albrecht. This is Mr. Caldwell, your son’s principal at Big Horn.” My response was, “Oh, *%$#, Brent. What did he do now?” The first call occurred during the first week of school, and it certainly wasn’t the last.

In March, we met with Brent to discuss Nick’s upcoming year at Meadowlark. Imagine my surprise when he explained that my five-year-old should not go to kindergarten (again). Brent explained that were that to happen, Nick would be bored. We all agreed that no good comes from Nick being bored. Once again, my plans were thwarted, and off he went to first grade at six.

The last eleven years have been largely successful. So successful, Nick is graduating early, thanks to no study halls for the last three years. Who knew?

Once again, this was not part of my plan. What about soaking up that last semester before he heads to college? No cap and gown again? Time will tell.

I’ve realized, looking back, that I’ve constantly had to adjust my expectations regarding the boys and school. Is this a bad thing? Not at all. It appears that my children’s lives are not about me. They’ve made choices that were best for them at the time. Were there bumps in the road? You bet. Struggles? Absolutely. Are we all the better for those experiences? We are, but I’m not going to lie. It’s hard in the moment. Will and Nick have taught me to let go and let them fly, even if they hit the random power line and return home dazed. They’ve proven they can get up and try again with minimal help from us. That’s supposed to be the goal of successful parenting. It doesn’t make it easier to wave goodbye, though.