Just when I think I have all the kids' paperwork filled out for school, I find out there's a whole lot more waiting in the wings. I will, quite literally, need to fill out the younger kids' paperwork again, in full, because the school is worried that they won't get the full file from the central office. Why not just register at the school directly? Because they just changed the policy! Hooray!

It appears that Thing Two may also fall victim to another policy change. We're still waiting to hear if there is to be band instruction in fifth grade. If not, I'll be in touch with the junior high band teacher (let's hear it for making parent friends with the cross-country mothers) and will try to match Thing Two up with a high schooler for lessons. I don't want to let him slip through the cracks on this. He's already invested two years in learning how to play and in becoming quite proficient; there's no reason for him to lose that because of political in-fighting on the school board.

The Kat is bouncing off the walls in her excitement to find out her teacher assignment. Thing Two is interested, but not quite ricocheting around the room. He's just waiting and observing, as is his habit.

Thing One just pulled off what he needed to qualify for Pre-Algebra. Pre-Algebra is the doorway to Algebra 1, which would be available in eighth grade and would qualify for high school credit. Given that he's already in a position to also get high school credit for French 1 next year, we're now trying to stack up as many high school cross-overs as possible. We already know that he's going to do concurrent enrollment in high school so he can earn his associates degree before he walks with his diploma.

Did I mention that he's running cross-country and will be starting swim team in October, with track to follow in March? And he's in choir and musical theater and Astronomy and Chemistry? And he appears to be thriving, making new friends and figuring out his locker combination and nearly surpassing me in height?

I wasn't ready for this to happen, but I suspect no parent is. I'm just grateful that, at the end of practice or school, he's still my son. I almost said "my baby", but he isn't much of a baby anymore. The Kat might be the only one to qualify, as she's only seven and still small enough to curl up in my lap. I'll hold her, and the boys, for as long as I can.