First day of school: September 2.

Tomorrow, we aren’t taking pH to school with fingers crossed that it will be a good fit for her. I will not cry in the car on the way home. I will not worry about accidental exposure to peanuts. I will get a pass on the muttered, “Get me out of here” when I pick her up. I will not hear the teacher complaining about how emotional she is. I will not hear that she “isn’t able to do the work” or (not) hear the stunned silence when I show the teacher the work she’s more than capable of doing at home. And thank the FSM for that.

Tomorrow I will be teaching my daughter, at home, on purpose, from the very beginning of the school year. It’s official, and I have the paperwork from the district to prove it. Without the pressure of removing her from a toxic environment, I’m experiencing anxiety about whether it’s the right decision (although I have the pro/con lists to show it is). I’m nervous that I won’t be any good at this (although in looking at where we went from November to last week, I’m…pretty much rocking this). Although I think it’s silly, I will worry about socialization (although she did fine in camps and made friends). What can I say? I’m a worrier.

Tomorrow we will be working our way through math and reading and writing and science and art and music and various and sundry other topics. (Actually, holiday though it is, we did some of it today, too. pH’s screen time is tied to completing work and she is a creature of habit, so she keeps asking what she can do.)  There are trips to museums and concerts and libraries and other, random outings. There are martial arts and swimming lessons now, and a group of other kids, once a week, at one of the museums.

Tomorrow the leaves will be a little more yellow. The day will be a little shorter. And I will continue doing the thing I said I would never, ever do (and simultaneously transforming into a taxi service) because right now, it works.