Mamas, I have a confession: I am not a fan of summer. Summer is a wild, lawless place. I look forward to summer for approximately one delusional, misguided month at the end of the school year. No lunches to pack. No carline to sit in. No homework to double-check. That first week of summer is glorious. It’s like a Mom Vacation. (Shh. That’s what I tell myself. Don’t ruin it.) That second week of summer is also glorious. Lunch? Welcome to this thing called The Refrigerator that contains food. May I also draw your attention to these doors here. Behind them is something I refer to as The Pantry. Open it and eat. I don’t care what. Just stay alive.
By the third week, we fall into this non-routine routine. Bedtime? What’s that? Underwear? Shoes? We don’t know what those are. There’s the occasional camp and possibly going to the pool in the afternoons and maybe playing with friends whose moms also hate summer. There’s no plan, really. It’s a free-for-all. And, by Week 4, I simply can’t stand it.
Summer is officially my least favorite season.
The other morning, I found myself sitting on my back porch in the 328 degree heat, sipping what was supposed to be iced coffee but was really just watered down coffee thanks to the ice cubes that melted 45 seconds after I stepped outside. I sat there, already drenched by the humidity at 7 a.m., itching my 4,000th mosquito bite, daydreaming of a better time. A simpler time. A time when I’m happy and not five seconds away from a heat stroke. A time when, yes, the children are out of school, but guess what? They’re going right back in two weeks. A time when I’m in a sweater. Would you like to know what that magical time is?
It’s Christmas.
Christmas doesn’t feel like a tropical rainforest. It doesn’t smell like sunscreen and bug spray. It smells like gingerbread and balsam firs. There are decorations and twinkly lights hanging in my back porch at Christmas. Know what’s hanging up in my back porch right now? A fly trap and a beach towel. There is a sweet, simple order to Christmas. There are traditions. Want to know what my summer tradition is? Staying sane and making sure my child brushes his teeth at least once between June and August.
Now, the irony of this is not lost on me. If you’ve been following my posts for Chattanooga Moms, you’ve heard me complain about this last school year so many times that you lost count. (782. That’s how many times I complained about it.) And, yes, school years are hard. But, at least I have trained teaching professionals in the trenches with me. This whole summer thing? I can’t. Between the mosquitos and the constant threat of heat stroke and the round-the-clock snacking, I just can’t. I’ve been trying to get my child to read a chapter book since May 25th. He’s read 12 pages. Mark my words, he will read all of the pages, people. This is the hill I’m choosing to die on this summer.
You know who could get him to read that chapter book? Santa.
So, while other parents are posting their beach pictures and family cruise pictures, I’ll just be over here sweating and throwing a box of Cheez-its at my child for his 3rd breakfast and counting the days until August. Actually, I’ll be counting the days until December. Because Christmas makes everything better. Presents make everything better. “It’s Christmas Break, but don’t get too comfortable because it ends in two weeks not two months” makes everything better. We’re all happy and good and kind and covered in bulky sweaters at Christmas. Not hot and miserable and feeling fat in a bathing suit and covered in sunblock. Mamas, I am dreaming of Christmas. You have no idea…or maybe you do.
Ten bucks says my December post will be “Dear Summer, I Miss You.” Place your bets.
