I almost cried when I dropped the kids off on their last day of school. Oh, it wasn’t because I was sad. School ending felt like personal affront to me.
Visions filled my mind of Carson and Ella, zombie-like and drooling in front of the TV, surrounded by spent fruit roll up wrappers (organic, OF COURSE). I imagined myself unshowered and muttering nonsense. So the first night of summer vacation I made a schedule of our daily activities, from writing practice and reading, to scheduled rest times and craft times, with a designated ONE HOUR ONLY of TV time each day. (Stop laughing at me.)
But you know what? It’s all been okay. The schedule lasted for about two days and then the pool opened. Summer went from being something I’d dreaded to breathing in my kids sunshine and sunscreened, sidewalk chalk, and popsicle scented little bodies. I think I kind of love summer.
Well, maybe it could be a little better if they’d sleep past 6:30 and if I didn’t have to hear, “Mom! Mom! Watch me!” over and over at the pool.