I drove by my kids’ elementary school yesterday. We haven’t been part of that school community in over 11 years, but I still think of it as “my kids’ school.”

I think I always will.

There was a time—not so long ago—when that school was at the center of our world. It was more than a place for education. It was our social hub, our escape from the daily grind of parenting, our second nest. My kids met some of their closest friends there, and the families we connected with during those years feel permanently woven into the fabric of who we are today.

For our kids, it was the launchpad—the place where friendships were formed, confidence was built, and emotional and social foundations were laid. It’s where they learned not just reading and math, but how to navigate relationships, express themselves, and believe in their potential.

For us, it marked the beginning of our parenting era in the school system. It was where we showed up for the first time—volunteering in classrooms, helping with talent shows, flipping pancakes at the Candyland breakfast. It was exhausting, chaotic, and overwhelming. But even when we were stretched too thin, we still found a way to be there. We were tired, yes—but always present.

Funny how the thing that wore me out the most is now the thing I miss the most.

After-school pickup was something we actually looked forward to—just for that quick connection with other grown-ups. A few minutes to laugh, swap stories, or simply feel like a person again. In a stage of life when we often felt invisible or uncool, those moments reminded us we were still in there somewhere—and that one day, we’d find our way back to ourselves.

That school wasn’t just a building. It felt like an extension of our home.

And now, in just a few weeks, a new wave of parents will begin their journey at “my kids’ school.” They’ll be full of nerves and excitement, buying that first backpack, packing that first snack. They’ll meet fellow parents who are just as wide-eyed and unsure. They’ll gradually form bonds and build a community. They’ll learn the beat of this new chapter, one morning bell at a time.

That school will become part of their story too. It will give them memories, friendships, and a sense of connection.

And one day, they’ll pass by that familiar corner —years after their last pickup, long after the backpacks have been donated—and they’ll feel it. That tug of memory. That same warmth. That sense of belonging. That ache of time passed.

Because once a school becomes “my kids’ school”, it never really stops being yours.