The end of summer!
So many mourn the passing, carefree days, but I am here to tell you there is a silent minority cheering for summer's exit. And it's me.
I can't take another day of 3-a-day gushing milk spills on the kitchen table. I don't want to step on another spilled goldfish cracker on my living room floor. I've grown weary of hanging towel after towel on the deck. I'm fresh out of ideas for patiently guiding siblings away from boxing matches in the car.
The summer days have been long, and unscheduled. Towards the end here, they have loomed before me like ominous storms.
A couple weeks ago, a woman with two kids commented to me that it sure gets easier when they're older. I took a look at my baby, toddling through the waiting room at swim lessons with snot dribbling down his nose and mixing with drool and slipping down his chin. He was giddily trying to grab up everything in sight that didn't belong to us, and I bit my tongue from saying out loud: I've got a long time yet before that comes.
But still: deep breath. Next week, with fresh number twos and Crayolas and minds, three of my kids will march into a productive, sibling-free zone. They will read and do math and stay away from video games without me reminding them all day long. They will prosper! They will flourish! They will joyfully take up the task of learning!
Or maybe it's me that will prosper and flourish. And breathe.
It's the end of summer!
So many mourn the passing, carefree days, but I am here to tell you there is a silent minority cheering for summer's exit. And it's me.
I can't take another day of 3-a-day gushing milk spills on the kitchen table. I don't want to step on another spilled goldfish cracker on my living room floor. I've grown weary of hanging towel after towel on the deck. I'm fresh out of ideas for patiently guiding siblings away from boxing matches in the car.
The summer days have been long, and unscheduled. Towards the end here, they have loomed before me like ominous storms.
A couple weeks ago, a woman with two kids commented to me that it sure gets easier when they're older. I took a look at my baby, toddling through the waiting room at swim lessons with snot dribbling down his nose and mixing with drool and slipping down his chin. He was giddily trying to grab up everything in sight that didn't belong to us, and I bit my tongue from saying out loud: I've got a long time yet before that comes.
But still: deep breath. Next week, with fresh number twos and Crayolas and minds, three of my kids will march into a productive, sibling-free zone. They will read and do math and stay away from video games without me reminding them all day long. They will prosper! They will flourish! They will joyfully take up the task of learning!
Or maybe it's me that will prosper and flourish. And breathe.
It's the end of summer!
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