There’s something about the first week of June. Something a little…manic. The kids all know they only have a couple weeks of school left. The ones who are of an age for testing are done. The ones who are graduating have been done for weeks. The weather is hotter, the beaches are calling, and we working parents we’re wishing we were able to take advantage of both.
Homework has more or less disappeared, the worn folders sent home empty. Library books have been checked in for the last time. The lost and found has been searched and I’ve resigned myself to never finding his bright blue sweatshirt. Still, we’re packing lunches, preparing teachers’ gifts, thinking the holes in their sneakers aren’t going to matter soon, and basically watching the clock until that last bell rings and the routine and schedule of the school year is gone.
For the first four years of Joseph’s life, I had summers off. I looked forward to the time away from work when we’d wander through berry patches, visit peach orchards, and lounge at the beach in the late afternoon Wednesday sun.
Now, however, for the second summer in a row, I’m working which means I’m also trying to arrange camps, child care, and activities to help the kids truly enjoy their summer holiday. All these plans are being tossed about complete with pamphlets and business cards until all of our heads are spinning and the idea of school, any more school, is the last thing on our minds. The kids are excited about Lego Camp, swim lessons, gymnastics, and the fair.
I’m excited to be shifting my schedule to work four tens and take advantage of long weekends. We’ve been planning the Fourth for two weeks and we’ve bought our plane tickets for our trip East in August. We’re just counting down the minutes, counting down the days, until…