The halcyon days of summer (or Dear lord when do they go back?)

Today is the last official day of summer.

Oh, sure, we still have the weekend to plow through, but down here in central Texas, today is meet the teacher/see your classroom/discover your new best friend day. Which for me marks the end of summer (despite the fact that we’re still facing two and half months of brutal heat).

The end of summer is a bittersweet time, full of poignant sorrow and lost hopes. It’s the time when I look back on the kind of mother I wanted to be this summer (fun, engaged, entertaining, inspiring) and am forced to face what an abject failure I was. Three months ago, I was sure this would be the perfect summer. I’d carefully scheduled my deadlines. I’d cleaned off my work plate. This was going to be the year where we swam and did science experiments and had reading time every day. We were going to make ice cream from scratch, damn it.

My fantasies of summer perfection were like brightly colored Jolly Ranchers left on the dash board on a 112 degree day. They started out beautiful but ended up a sticky mess no one wanted to clean up.

Here’s the list of things I wanted to do this summer:

read and do math for 30 minutes each day
garden with my kids
play at the park
bake cinnamon bread
teach my children to be more responsible pet owners
go swimming at least twice a week
spend less time working (so as to enjoy my time with my children)
bake chocolate eclairs (there was a reason this seemed like a good idea. I promise.)
set a good example for my kids by exercising consistently
enjoy every minute of our time together

There are more things on the list, but it’s getting long enough it’s starting to look ridiculous.

Maybe I shouldn’t be disappointed in myself for not accomplishing all that. My deadlines got pushed around. I had work that had to be done. And, sure, I tell myself that even on the days were I had to turn on the Wii so I could get work done, at least I don’t have to work outside the home. It’s hard, but we made it work.

Of course, now, facing these last few days of summer, my heart is heavy with the things we didn’t do, the fun we didn’t have, the memories we didn’t make and the pictures I never took. And maybe I just don’t like endings.

My dear boy is entering kindergarten on Monday. That’s just three days away! I will be the mother of a preschooler for only three more days!

It was hard when my daughter went of to kinder. It felt like a big threshold, but at the time I had no idea how big. Now I know. I know how much he’ll love that kinder teacher. How he’ll write her notes and draw her pictures. I know how fast this year will go and how long the days will seem without him here. Counting bus time, they’ll both be out of my sight and my care and my company for eight hours a day! And the hours at home will zip by. And before I know it, it’ll be him going into the third grade (like she is this year), and I’ll still be wondering where the time went and whether or not I enjoyed it enough.

I friggin’ hate that phrase “Enjoy every minute!”

It fills me with panic and fear. Am I enjoying it enough? Am I????

On the bright side, any minute now, they’ll start fighting over something. “He kicked me in the stomach!” “She just bosses me around like I’m nothing!” And I go into the other room to check for internal injuries and step on a Lego and curse them both. And then two hours later, after my son has repeated my curse word, my husband will ask, “Where did you hear that word? Your mother and I don’t talk that way.” And that’s when I’ll think, “Dear lord, when do they go back?”