Just to keep things in perspective, today I spent twenty minutes arguing with my son over the structural integrity of a $20 backpack vs. a $60 backpack, and an hour dragging my daughter out of bed and making her wear actual clothes. Again. But as we finish up our last week of summer freedom, I was maybe a little sad.
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Summer is almost over. If I didn’t know by the calendar, I would know by the feel of the air—the mornings stay cooler a little longer, and there is a heaviness that makes me anxious. In a few days my boy will begin seventh grade and my daughter, fourth.
I think this is more traumatic for me than it is for them. I get melancholy every fall, because I know these days aren’t mine to keep. This year my son has no interest in being near me and my daughter is pushing back against anything that she thinks threatens her autonomy.
The long, slow days of summer, the moments we have together, they’re growing shorter. I have the end of summer blues. Read more….