I feel a sense of desperation around this time every summer.
And I’m not talking about the enjoy-every-moment kind of desperation I hear some mothers talk about (though I’ve only come across these types on the internet—never in real life—which I believe is an important observation to consider.)
No, I’m talking about the I-don’t-think-I-can-be-around-these-kids-anymore desperation.
The somebody-PLEASE-take-these-kids desperation. The what-am-I-going-to-do-with-these-kids-today kind of desperation.
Like so much of life, summertime can be both the best of times and the worst of times (especially for mothers.)
At its best, summer is:
Slow mornings and sparkle-filled evenings.
Trampoline springs squealing wildly, fiercely competing with children screaming wildly and laughing hysterically.
Chins painted with ice cream.
Melted marshmallows taking the lead in the Summer’s Most Sticky Contest.
Hot skin hitting cold water.
Sun kissed cheeks and windblown hair.
Bodies perfumed in sweat and sunscreen, sunshine and chlorine.
Skinned knees and bruised shins (as they should be.)
Children who are oblivious to the gift of these endless days (also as they should be.)
At its worst, summer is:
Living three lifetimes by noon.
24-hour cycles that feel like 2400 hours.
Days strung together by hours and hours of bickering.
Routine (and endlessly annoying) shouts of “shut the door!”
Incessant begging for snacks.
Forgotten piles of wet everything.
A mother run utterly ragged—her body, mind, soul, and spirit begging for restoration. (And please, God, some quiet!)
For all the wonderful it has to offer, summer is far from perfect.
Though I must admit I’m rather pleased that “the best” list is longer than “the worst” (as it should be.)
As a mom, summer can get to be a little too long. Desperation for schedules and rest and silence gnaws at my entire being.
But I remember fondly the days in which I wished for summer to last forever. I miss them.
I’ll miss these days too.
Because it turns out that the best part of summer from my viewpoint is watching my kids enjoy it.
And kids don’t get to be kids forever.
So, I’ll soak in the best parts and endure the worst parts and take heart knowing that some of these excruciatingly long days are the very days my kids will look back on and miss.
This post was republished with permission, it originally appeared on the author’s Facebook page.