This Was Not Hot Mom Summer. This Summer Was Hell.


Maybe it’s the result of months spent staring at walls, slowly losing our grips on reality. Unable to breach the walls of our homes, and losing our ability to communicate with the outside world.


We slowly began venturing out, awkwardly greeting others for fear of contamination. Long distance high fives and all. 

When in-person school resumed, let’s be honest, we all collectively breathed a sigh of relief at the thought of not having to keep our children from performing multiple episodes of WWE in our very own living rooms on the daily. 

There may have been multiple quarantines, breaks, and the tedious task of ensuring our kids had clean masks, but at least they were occupied. They had a schedule, they were stimulated, and our worlds began to return to a degree of normal. 

Y’all, this summer has tested every single ounce of patience I have. 

It’s easy to complain about early morning rushes to school. Breakfast often consisting of something wrapped in cellophane. Forgotten lunches and long. ass. days. 

That is nothing compared to the endless bickering, the refusal to eat anything they liked the week prior, and the soul crushing boredom

We tried to implement a schedule. We really did. It lasted about a week before I threw my hands up and gave in to the gods of summer. 

We’ve had pool days, trampoline parks, arts and crafts, and movie marathons. 

As a middle to lower class family, I do not have an endless supply of green I can gingerly pick off the tree in my backyard whenever I have the slightest whim. 

We haven’t embarked on some magical trip as a family, all loading into our extravagant RV equipped with its own espresso machine and individual queen sized beds. 

Disney World wasn’t an option, and no one wants to try the beach with 4 children under the age of 9. 

I’m not sure who allowed me to have four children, but they should be ashamed of themselves. This is simply not what I signed up for. 

Y’all sell us young, unsuspecting woman by sharing these heartbreakingly beautiful moments with peacefully sleeping infants lying asleep on your chests and our ovaries physically hurt.

So we think, sure, I can totally do this. 

Only they don’t show us. Oh no. They don’t show us the endless mounds of laundry. The years of sleep deprivation leading to a slow but steady brain fog resulting in lost keys and burnt dinners. 

They don’t tell us that at times, we question if we’re fit to be a mother at all

It’s been the summer of Tyson chicken fries. The summer of “if I have to tell you one more time”, which of course, I would. 

We’ve spent days in pajamas, changing from one pair to another at bedtime. Slowly sinking into the maddening abyss that can only be described as acute summer boredom. 

At this point, my children and I are counting the days until school resumes. Of course the excitement will be short lived, but hey, I’ll take what I can get. 

Gone will be the days we spend staring out the window, refusing to partake in temperatures that would make the devil sweat. 

Happily, I welcome fall madness. It means crackling fires and cozy sweatshirts. Allowing all the basic moms such as myself to sit back and enjoy a nice hot latte reveling in the smell of our pumpkin spice candles while they burn away. 

I love my children. I really, really do. 

I will feel the slight pang in my heart watching my youngest daughter march into her first year of elementary school, flanked by both of her older sisters, knowing she’s going to take Kindergarten by storm. 

Welcoming them all home every afternoon will bring joy to my heart. 

However, being able to clean and maintain the house for more than 15 minutes, I will be welcoming that as well. 


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