I’m sitting here doing the paperwork for my daughter’s enrollment in kindergarten, for which we have been ordered to appear by the school system at 1:30 PM tomorrow. She will be 6 in September, at the old end of the spectrum for her class.

We’d wanted to home school, but she is sooo excited about school, and can probably use the interaction and structure. If it gets too weird, we may yet do that and just figure it out. I’m attempting to make my way on part time work and writing, between the economy and peculiar circumstances I slipped into, so it might be less hard to do than otherwise.

This reminded me of a thought I had a day or two ago.

At her age, I was going out of the house myself, playing in the yard and the adjoining woods, walking back and forth up the road to my father’s business, usually alone. Now granted, it was 1966 and we lived 1/3 of a mile from the nearest house, in the proverbial middle of the woods, and I was male, but still, what a difference.

Yet… she is about the age when the boy next door was going out in his yard (and ours) alone to play. Presumably easier to keep track of than it’d be for me, being a house rather than a second floor apartment, but still. She’s getting old.

It’s the environment I described, where I was raised so hands-off, that should lead to much fodder for this blog and perhaps even fiction if I get around to it. My own Hundred Acre Wood, as it were, except more than 100 acres.

Not sure I’m ready for the whole school thing. Definitely not ready for the bureaucracy it entails.