I was flipping through my calendar earlier today and realized that the first day of Autumn is on September 22nd.
When I was a child, I always associated fall with going back to school. That was the end of summer for me. Now, I have kids who go back to school in early August and get out of school in May. Summer for me was swimming in the backyard pool (it was above ground but we were STILL the fanciest pants in the neighborhood). We didn't go on vacation. We didn't go to camp.
At the front of my dayplanner is a week by week schedule of where my children are this summer. Because, honestly, if I didn't write it all down like this I would completely forget and show up at the wrong place to pick them up and I'm already in the running for Suckiest Mother of the Year and frankly, I'm not in the mood to improve my chances. My kids have places to go and people to see. They are in constant motion throughout the entire summer.
I think it sucks for them.
They don't know any better fortunately. But I think if they had the opportunity to play all day in their own backyard and have picnics on the grass and wake up because the sun was coming out and not because an alarm clock was going off? Well, they'd probably run with it and never look back.
Life is so different for them than it was for me. I used to feel sorry for myself because I wasn't one of those kids who got to do everything and participate in all this stuff, and now when I see Girl Child fall asleep at the dinner table because she's so exhausted from the day's activities I think, "What the hell is happening here?"
They love their camp. They love their friends. They are very used to their schedule. They don't know any other way.
I want everything to slow down. Just for a while. Just so they can be kids for a while longer.
Just so I can pack a picnic that we can eat in the backyard.