Summer looks different when you’re a mommy.
A few summers ago (seven to be exact), I would wake when Joshua left for work and indulge in a book or a morning nap or a mindless day of puttering around not really worrying about all the items I didn’t cross off my to-do list today because there was always tomorrow.
Then I became a mommy. Mommies don’t really get the same kind of summer vacation. I’m sure my husband who leaves at 7 a.m. and sometimes doesn’t return until 7 p.m. would beg to differ but this is my blog, so too bad.
Sure, I realize I’m blessed to be home with them all day everyday. Yes, I get to go to the pool if I feel up to the challenge of making them get out of it when playtime’s over.
Yes, I get to take them on picnics to the lake and let them swim and then spend the next half hour wrangling them out of wet suits and shrieking, “Don’t stand in that shower barefoot!” Or explaining that if you lay your towel in the sand, you will in fact get sandy when you try to dry off with said towel.
Yes, we go to the library for books and get dirty looks from all the people who can’t wait for summer reading program to be over so that lady with the squealing toddler will stop coming and interrupting their precious quiet reading time.
These days my quiet time consists of putting Amelia down for a nap and listening to her test out her vocal range for up to 45 minutes while I ponder the fine differences between grocery stores sales list because we need lunch food and supper stuff and something besides cereal for breakfast occassionally.
I love it, I do. I’m blessed. And I chose it from here on out. But sometimes I wish I had appreciated carefree days more before I had kids. And I wish I’d done more then, so maybe I wouldn’t have so much to do now.
Lindsey P. Brackett 