Sometimes summer days are like this: without a clear agenda, my anxiety begins to simmer sometime around mid-morning. I’ve had a few cups of coffee, which is as necessary as air but also doesn’t exactly soothe me, and then the children are screaming at each other.
“Isaac! You stepped on it!”
“Zannah, give it back!”
“Mom! Isaac hit me!”
“Sorry!”
I mean they are just so all up in each other’s business, and yet they cannot bear to be separated for even five minutes. I try! Oh, I try. This morning before we did anything fun they were given the task of dismantling yesterday’s “spaceships” -- Suzannah’s took up the entire living room and Isaac’s took up the entire family room. They’d created dining rooms and escape pods and control areas out of blankets; they’d made their favorite stuffed animals fellow travelers; they’d basically unloaded their entire bedrooms into different parts of the house. Which was great. Yesterday afternoon I had a tour of both ships, and I didn’t even mind that they stayed intact for the rest of the evening. I passed out on the couch last night as soon as the kids were in bed, and I just did not have the energy to care that much. This morning, I told them that they would clean it all up before we went anywhere or did anything fun and figured that would keep them busy for awhile. Additionally, we picked up some containers at The Container Store yesterday, and since Suzannah loves organizing as much as I do, it seems, I figured she could use some quality time in her room quietly organizing the disaster on the floor into her new bins. She’s good at this. She likes this.
It just wasn’t that kind of day.
It wasn’t a bad day. The kids were just kids in summer. It’s just that the only other adult I spoke to today happened to work at the Honda dealership. And they’re so great there, usually, but I really wasn’t in the mood to hear, “Huh. Doesn’t your husband usually do this?”
Respectfully: Bite me.
Anyway, I decided not to go ahead with the mini-service that was apparently due today, because I didn’t want to deal with two kids, one car seat, one booster seat, and a loaner car. I didn’t want to have to come back. So that was an hour in the car for no reason. We went to the spray park instead. I read in the sunshine and watched my children leap through the water. I still hadn’t had any adult conversation, but I had a book, and the day -- like almost all summer days in the Pacific Northwest -- was nearly perfect. Blue skies. A breeze. My children in the water. Fresh cherries and blueberries waiting in my refrigerator, and also just maybe some Flathead Cherry beer brought back from Montana.
I sent my husband a text: Can you stop and get milk, toilet paper, and some sanity?
He responded: Do we need to cage the children in the backyard?
Later, he sent a text from the store: Getting groceries now. I replied, Okay! I’m drinking beer.
But he’s home now, and the children are watching a movie and we’re all bathed and I’m feeling pretty calm. Matt is grilling veggie burgers and baking fries and promising me a little alone time tomorrow, and I’m basking in this evening sun, in the scent of sunscreen and shampoo, in gratitude. Because even though I felt my nerves begin to sizzle before lunchtime, and even though the unstructured nature of summer days tends to make me anxious in a way the school year does not, I do love this season.
We’ve been on the road and I’ve been offline. It was a beautiful break. Not necessary a vacation, but a break -- virtually no social media, internet, or phone. Lots of sunshine. Tons of time in the water, which feeds my soul when I don’t have time to myself. (I was going to link to a hilarious article about going on a vacation vs. going on a trip, but when I went to google it I found ten more hilarious stories. Just go read a few. They’re great. Vacation vs. trip. Yes, google it, especially if you’re a parent.)
We spent the first half of our trip in Montana at my parents’ house, which included taking the kids swimming at the outdoor pool downtown, Pickle Barrel sandwiches and huckleberry soda (obviously), a visit to the Museum of the Rockies, floating the Madison River, taking a 12-mile hike (that was just Matt and me), meeting my favorite high school teacher-turned-friend for coffee (a must-do on every trip home), visiting my grandmother, and eating popcorn from my dad’s famous 45-year-old popcorn popper. We spent the second half of our trip in Glacier National Park, which is my favorite place in the entire universe. As in, when I was hugely pregnant with Isaac and preparing for labor at a birth center with no drugs, my “happy place” in my mind was the shore of Lake McDonald in Apgar. Which is where we spent two full days last week. In the “happy place” version (which existed in my mind only), I was sitting at the shore gazing at the mountains, or possibly swimming by myself. In the “reality” version captured on film last week, my daughter was paddling a kayak all over the place by herself. And then she tried paddle boarding. By her damn self. It was both hard on me and totally heart-exploding in the best of ways.
Anyway, it was all wonderful. We spent the first two nights in a cabin with two bedrooms, which meant we could tuck the children in and then sit up with the lights on, read books, and drink fancy gin for ten minutes before I was all, “Well, I’m exhausted." I was absolutely giddy with it. The second two nights we camped, and that was lovely in the way that camping with our little family always it. It rained hard overnight, both nights, and I tell you what, there is honestly nothing better than curling around my children in the warmth of our tent with the rain drumming over our heads, knowing we are warm and dry and that our rain fly is indeed going to hold over the peaceful space beneath.
We also had the extraordinary privilege this time of spending a few days with my aunt and uncle and cousins and their partners and children, which has happened exactly never since Isaac was born. I think the last time I saw both of my cousins together, Suzannah was about five weeks old; needless to say, a lot of life has happened since then. Watching my kids play with their second cousins was, again, totally heart-exploding, and reconnecting with my first cousins was exactly what I hoped it would be. I’ve spent a little time with them both over the years, mostly separately, for graduations and funerals and the odd dinner, and I’ve always come away thinking, you know, I really like these people and I wish we could hang out. This trip gave us a little of that time, and I feel more determined to nurture these relationships through our adulthood. That’s a good place to be with family.
We’re home again, settling into whatever normal means during the summer months: play dates with friends, trips to the spray park, letting the sunshine slide over us in the backyard or while we hunker down inside with books or endless games of Uno, special lunch outings when I’m tired of making sandwiches and want fancier things in my salads. We go to the library. We go to the zoo. Sometimes I force my children to just be bored and figure out what to do about it; I refuse to over-schedule their summer days with activities and I also refuse to turn on the television, even though I was mightily tempted at ten-thirty this morning. We nibble fresh blueberries and Rainier cherries, maybe crackers and cheese in the late afternoons. I read terrifying articles about “the big one” sure to hit Seattle. I inform my husband that we need to put together emergency preparedness kits. (I am absolutely serious about this.) I read novels. I fret. I run the sprinkler in the backyard. I pour iced tea into tumblers. I breathe in, I breathe out.
In a few days I’m flying to Chicago for the IB of Americas conference. It is a huge, huge privilege to attend and I am so grateful for the opportunity. I’m also freaking out about it a little bit, because that is what I do. My husband cannot ease all of my fears but he can reassure me that he will vacuum the house before I come home again, and that small gesture speaks volumes. This man knows me and puts up with me and seems to love me even when I’m crazy.
I’ve been missing my dog, a lot. Still.
I’ve been reading excellent, challenging books.
I painted our master bathroom, finally.
I’ve slathered my children in sunscreen and turned them loose in the bright hot afternoons.
I’m getting tan.
I’m struggling with changes that have infused my first half of summer with unexpected melancholy.
I’m still grateful for the friendships that mean so much to me.
And I’m still excited for this upcoming year. I’m in no hurry for August, though, not just yet. So for now, despite my anxiety, despite the tough summer mornings in which my children can’t get out of each other’s faces, despite my attempts (sometimes successful, sometimes not) to shake it all off and just relax already, I’m content to just let these days flow over us. Like water, like sunshine.
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