Ambivalent.

That’s how I feel this week as my tour as Julie McCoy, cruise director of the “Love Boat,” comes to an end. Say good-bye to the bathing suits, bike rides, lemonade stands, Scrabble games, and sand castles.

And say hello to uniforms, 8 a.m. drop-offs, homework, play dates, and practices.

I’m not exactly sure why I feel ambivalent about the end of summer. The structure of school certainly affords me more precious time to myself. And there is no season I enjoy more than fall in New York. The brisk weather, the crimson leaves, and the crisp apples: Just typing this list makes my heart flutter with excitement. The corduroys, the boots, the soccer sidelines, the Halloween costumes, and ultimately my favorite part of fall: Thanksgiving.

But with one look at my worn-out flip-flops — now cast into the corner of my closet — a knot tightens in my stomach. It’s as if I am the one going back to school, instead of my children. I wouldn’t be surprised if one night this week, I wake up in a cold sweat after having a familiar anxiety dream. You know the one I’m thinking about: the one in which you walk into the classroom and discover everyone’s ready to take a test that somehow you didn’t know about.

My ambivalence about the start of school and all the activity it brings worries me because I’m sure my children can sense it. It’s not as if I don’t feel this in December or March — it’s just that I’m most aware of it right now, when the contrast between the dog days of August and the structured, orderly days of September rub up against each other.

I’m conflicted about whether or not it matters if my children enjoy school. Instead of attending a school that prides itself on academic excellence, would they be better served at a school that offers a little less work and little more fun? Less time in the classroom and more time pursuing their individual interests?

I wonder whether or not it matters if my children do well at school. Does it matter if my children complete their homework thoroughly, or carelessly? I’m ambivalent about my son’s decision to read online reviews of the summer reading material after breezing through the books; about whether children find their passions naturally, or if parental assistance is required. I’m ambivalent about living in a city where it seems more children use tutors instead of flying solo.

I’m hardly the only parent to be of two minds on many of these issues.

“There are plenty of single-minded parents,” a principal of a public school in the city told me last week, “but many, many more are not sure what really matters when it comes to their children and schooling. I always say that what matters is that children discover the joy of learning. But let’s face it: Not all children are going to love every class. Plenty of subjects are going to be difficult and some will be boring. And if you’ll recall from your own childhood, school was sometimes hard. Parents today have a hard time with watching their children struggle.”

Oh, the struggle. Perhaps this is the source of my ambivalence: the struggle. If summertime is about a break, then the fall is about a fresh start. This time of year brings fresh haircuts, sneakers, backpacks, textbooks, and, most important, energy to begin a new school year filled with academic discoveries and challenges, as well as social experiences, some that will be positive and some that will be excruciating.

This time of year, I try to remind myself that in New York, sometimes you need to be a radical parent to be a good parent. This is a city where parents avoid discipline and limits, but load on the pressure; where some children spend far more time with hired help, although they are not in double-income homes. This is a city where more of my children’s friends have Nintendo Wii than don’t; where some of my friends’ teenage children talk about designer clothes as if that’s normal. This is where parents, many of whom have worked their tails off to become enormously successful, will do anything to prevent their children from working their tails off.

But this struggle is part of childhood. And watching your children struggle — succeed, fail, and land somewhere in between — is a part of parenthood, especially parenthood marked by bouts of ambivalence.

sarasberman@aol.com