Thirty-Six Days to Go

We're two-thirds of the way through summer. Can you hear my sigh of relief?

I'm not a mean mom, truly. I enjoy hanging out with my kids. And we've done some cool stuff this year--toured the WWII submarine in Baltimore, explored every nook and cranny of the National Zoo, gone on nature hikes and tree-spotting expeditions, made birdhouses and feeders and hung them in the yard, and a bunch of other things. We've hung at the pool and in the yard and inside in the AC with a good movie. We've been to the lake a half-dozen times and have a full week there planned soon. Next week, we're going to a puppet show at a local theatre and then picnicking under the trees at an adjacent park (complete with carousel), and I haven't given up hope on getting out to a local farm for a day or on exploring some of the Smithsonian museums once mid-August is here and the tourists start to head home.

Truthfully, though, we miss our routines. All of us--the kids more than I, I think. These stretches of time, when Mommy's working or cleaning up the house or just breathing for a bit, are tough. They miss their school friends, many of whom are in all-day camps to accomodate parents who work in offices. They miss horsing around at lunchtime and playing games in PE class, and honestly, they miss learning. I'm trying to find lessons for them and we have learned a bunch, but I truly believe they miss that structured sit-in-your-chair-and-listen learning time.

DS will return to school with his new foot orthotics. He'll have to switch them from his school shoes to his gym shoes, and I'm colossally worried that the other kids will use that as an excuse to pick on him. (Can you spot the lady who was the picked-on kid in grade school?) He still can't tie his shoes--his fingers get all bunched up and in their own way. But he's playing soccer for school this year and is beyond excited for that. He's also discovered his talent for golf--he's very good at it--and his ego has taken a boost there too.

DD goes back happy as a lark. Mommy, on the other hand, has a head full of worries. The child cries at the drop of a hat--literally, sometimes. She throws tantrums over the damndest things. Things no sane, normal person would give a second thought. She has the attention span of a gnat, as an old theatre director used to say when I was in high school. She just today learned to put her own shirt on, and that was after weeks of tears and screams and thrown garments. She's terrified of failure. She gets overloaded...I'm not convinced we won't get some kind of sensory problem diagnosis sometime in the not-too-distant future. So I'm scared of what the year will bring for her. And us.

Our pediatrician, whom I love and adore, is on an eight-week paternity leave. I don't want to ask these questions of the others in the practice. I'm sure they're wonderful doctors, but they don't know us. It's a shot in the dark for them, and frankly, I can shoot at my own darkness, thanks.

So here we are, 36 days from school. I'm not sure if I'd rather slam the front door and keep them here with me forever, or fling it open and shove them up the street and into the (hopefully loving) arms of their teachers.

One more month. Guess we'd better make the most of it.