Yesterday was the perfect day.
I sailed through Meijer without rushing, without a deadline. Every item I needed was in stock and when I went to check out, no one was in line.
I ran three miles around the neighborhood feeling joy in the fact that I could.
I walked my dog, I sat outside, I counted the many bikes in the driveway and I listened to my kids and their friends laughing.
I wish it could always be like this.
But it can’t, because next week I will be back to work again and the kids will be in school.
And I will have a really hard time with it.
I don’t like change, even if it’s one that I know is coming. I suddenly start panicking about how we’ll get laundry done. How we’ll fit homework and practice and yard work and housework all into just evenings and weekends.
And my kids!!!
This was a glorious summer, I have to admit. Hang in there if you’ve got younger ones, and if your kids are older, don’t worry— I am not taking this summer for granted.
They were old enough to ride around the neighborhood without supervision, and I’m fortunate enough to live in a true village that watches out for everyone’s kids. Some days I had a house full, while other days it was oddly quiet.
I completed projects, read, took naps, read some more and stalked @dog_rates.
And all was right with the world.
But now it’s back to real life.
To setting the alarm for 5am.
To packing lunches the night before.
To choosing my clothes for the next day.
To carrying loads of papers home to grade during baseball practices and gymnastics meets.
To talking to my husband more through text than face to face.
To giving exhausted ‘Good nights’ and brief goodnight kisses.
To seeing my kids for only a few hours each day.
Every year I whine and ask Bill if I really have to go back to work. And it’s not that I hate what I do, I love it.
So if I’m a little out of sorts and weepy for the next couple of weeks, it’s just because I’m not ready to give up the summer.
Not just yet.