The last few weeks have felt like pseudo summer. Living in the half relax. It feels like summer, but it doesn’t. We swim. We play outside. We eat ice cream. And, then we spend equal amounts of time at Doctor’s offices and stores stocking up. Ella needs braces and Rocco needs glasses. I need a second opinion for both. We tired in trying on clothes to see what still fits and what we grew out of. Legs grew longer than the weeds this sticky summer. We made it through shots without any tears, which was a first in my thirteen years of motherhood. We stayed up late and thought, with contempt, about how, in days, we’d be getting up early, again.
This is what I call pseudo summer.
The long days, late mornings and twist cones trick us into thinking it will never end, but school supplies, shots and sports practices tell us otherwise.
Every year I’m racing the clock to get all of the “to dos” that need doing done. I don’t call it procrastination, I call it . . .
The summer sky was clear and faintly decorated with a few pillow-like clouds. The kind you believe you could walk on, but settle for making figures out of them, instead. Ella and I were driving to the airport. The one that takes forever to get to. She was the radio DJ and I was the driver – scanning stations for Bieber, while I scanned my thoughts for doubts.
The airport always surfaces the same two emotions for me…excitement and nervousness. An excitement to go somewhere. To chase adventure and take in change. And a nervousness to get there.
This time I wasn’t traveling. This time, and for the first time, . . .
I wonder where your feet will take you this week? I wonder what your week will entail?
Do you ever spend too much timer wondering or worrying that you forget to wander? You forget to let those painted toes test out the waters because you’ve been planning your every step?
Five. Five always feels official. Four felt like I could cheat and call you a toddler still. But five doesn’t work that way. Five means Kindergarten and all kinds of bigger kidness calling.
I finally understand why moms baby their babies. It’s hard to see them grow. You don’t look at milestones as firsts. You look at them as lasts.
Did I ever tell you I wanted to be a nun?