We’ve just about made it through Week One of school (and it was really only half a week). On Wednesday, my 10-year-old was up at 6 a.m., showered, and rarin’ to go (his bus comes at 8:23).

Thursday, I woke him up at 7:15 and he was angry that I hadn’t gotten him up at 6:45 so he could take “an hour-long shower” (actually, he’s in there less than 10 minutes but it must seem like an hour to him).

Today, I woke him up at 7 and he laid in bed another 10 minutes before slouching into the shower. Then he put reinforcements on all the dividers in his 3-ring binder for about 45 minutes, scarfed down a bowl of cereal and slid into the bus stop just as the bus was pulling up. Whew!

He got the same teacher his brother had for 5th grade and loves her. I think the feeling is mutual.

In his “off time,” he is the ball boy for the high school football team that his uncle coaches. This year, he has moved up to “head ball boy.” He takes his job very seriously. His first game of the season was last Friday. After the game, he told my hubby that he had “made two errors at bellboy.” He then proceeded to ask my husband whether there is a Ballboy Hall of Fame. Apparently, the ref told him that he should be inducted into this particular Hall of Fame.

My 14-year-old went off to eighth grade, happy as could be. He is Mr. Social. The week before school started (oh yeah, that was only last week!), he started cross country practice and got his locker and combination. His main goal was to memorize his locker combo before school started. He achieved that goal.

He doesn’t say much about school; I think he’s still settling in, but he seems to like most of his classes and teachers. Eighth grade, I’ve learned, is all about being “cool” and giving the “sevvies” a bad time.

As for me, I went out to breakfast with my girlfriend on Wednesday to celebrate—er—mourn the start of the school year. An hour was not enough to get caught up on each other’s summer and to plan our fall work projects (we’re both freelance writers and are collaborating on some projects).

After school on Wednesday, I took my son to her house to play with her son, and my friend and I both sprawled on couches and vegged for another hour. Her husband kept coming in and out. He just looked at me and laughed and said, “I knew you’d still be here!”

My husband, who’s a teacher, hung around our house all summer. While he did a great job taking the boys places so I’d have time to write my book, having him and the boys around is just not the same as having a full six hours of predictable, total quietness every day.

Well, maybe not complete silence. They’re putting a sewer down the middle of my street so backhoes, gravel trucks and assorted heavy equipment beep and grind away all day long. But other than that, it’s quiet. No voices. No slamming doors. NO INTERRUPTIONS. So I’m pouring it on, researching and writing the final three chapters of my book, “What’s So Great About Adoption,” during the next few weeks.

Aaah, freedom. It feels good.