The Agony and Ecstasy of Summer

Let me count the days until summer begins and we can sleep late, go to the beach in the afternoon, and play games in the evenings. No more homework and frantic rushes to make sure the spelling words are alphabetized correctly and circled with a colored crayon. No more projects like a model of a California mission that send me to Michael’s Arts and Crafts Store where I drop $45 on church bells, plastic cows and a patch of fake grass. And finally, no more packing and unpacking lunches as I decide whether I have been a bad junk-food mom or a good healthy carrot mom. The days will soon be ours with all the time in the world to be the mom I always wanted to be.  The mom that teaches her kids how to ride a bike and hand signal a turn; takes cake decorating and acoustic guitar classes together and travels to the cities of the American Revolution to learn about our history.

What am I saying? I must be high on that box of Trader Joe’s peanut butter cups I just ate. I am completely dreading summer with a capitol D. How I am going to survive those ten weeks of unplanned time is beyond me. The whining, the fighting and the pre-battle cry of those three nasty words:  “I am bored.” Obviously summer camps are the answer yet how many $200 weeks of fun can one afford? It would cost me around $4000 to entertain my kids with surf lessons, tennis camps and ocean exploration all summer long. Add in the camp pick-ups and drop-offs and I am back to a school schedule with no time to sleep, a make-your-own lunch plan or afternoons with Oprah.

Yesterday, I sat staring at my summer planning folder, waiting for enlightenment to strike. Sitting under a tree worked for Buddha, why wouldn’t sitting under my Monogram frig work for me? Right when I was about to have a meditative snack, an illuminating moment occurred.

“Mommy, it feels like you don’t want to spend time with us anymore,” my nine year old said. 

“Why, honey?”

“Because you want us to go to camps all summer long.”

“That’s not true. I haven’t enrolled you in one camp. What do you want to do this summer?”

“I just want to stay home and relax.”

“Yeah, relax,” chimed in her little sister. They had taken my mantra, “Mommy needs to relax” and made it their own.

“Everyone relax,” I said. “You are not going to camp every week.” My girls calmed down and headed back to the family room to watch Miley Cyrus or whatever Disney droid was currently filling their mind with poison against parents.

That’s when it hit me. Every other week of camp with a few family excursions would give me time to work, watch a few Oprah shows and maybe even relax. Meeting in the middle with alternating activities was my new plan.

With that summer issue finally settled, I turned to one that is much more painful: the bathing suit. Only twenty days left to buff, tone and melt away that muffin top hanging over my tankini skirt. Now that’s pure agony, no ecstasy involved.