Sometimes, in Summertime
I have spent the past couple of weeks in a state of goofy almost-doneness, pitting responsibility against warm days and sandboxes and four o'clock beers. I took the kids to ice cream for no other reason than today was Wednesday and we had nothing better to do. Then, in an effort to negate my coolness, I let Katie hurt my feelings and let her know it, and cried and said the truest thing I've ever said -
"No one will ever love you as much as your mommy does."
Heavy knowledge for an eleven year old, though likely not believed. And then I felt silly and blamed it on blood sugar and made her kiss me, twice.
I don't know what is wrong with me. It could be the busyness, it could be that this week is the anniversary of my father's death (though it is just another day, I still feel mostly like this), it could be that my OCD is cycling I am doing battle with it, armed with Comet and a toothbrush.
It could just be that I am ready for summer and time spent blowing bubbles and sitting in the sun, instead of driving to activities and trying to cram quality time in between homework and bedtime.
Sometimes, in summertime, the pool is a good enough bath.
Bedtime is negotiable.
Lunch can be a popsicle.
The table outside will be covered in the assorted detritus of fun - wet towels and flip flops and foam noodles - and I will turn out the light snd lock the door and think, 'I'll pick that up tomorrow,' and not feel the least bit irresponsible.
Sometimes, in summertime, you can do that.
I still have 2 1/2 weeks of real life and lunches and ceremony. I will spend it with a perpetual lump in my throat for the passing milestones, and an eye on June.
Summer, I am waiting.