I have never considered myself much of an idealist. More of a realist, really. I like to think that I see things as they really are, rather than as more negative or positive than they are in actuality, though I’m sure some people in my life would disagree. Some might even argue that I tend more toward the pessimistic side.
However, every year I long for summer. In my head, summer inevitably becomes this glorious, beautiful, not-quite-reachable unicorn that I can’t stop thinking about! Summer is magical. I can’t wait to have all three of my kiddos at home, all day, every day, to spend time together. We will talk, we will laugh, and we will reconnect. Most of all, we will SPEND EVERY WAKING MINUTE TOGETHER and we will LOVE IT.
I employ the two “big kids” to make lists of activities they want to do this summer. I peruse the endless magazines and websites devoted to “Rochester summer fun“. I have grand plans that include a healthy balance of educational activities with pure, unadulterated fun. We will explore, we will play, and all of these intricately detailed plans will surely keep my kids as engaged as a catnip-chasing kitten.
EVERY SINGLE YEAR.
And then, Thursday night rolls around. It’s the much-anticipated, oft-referenced, last-day-of-school-evening. And ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE. The same “big kids” who, just that morning, thoughtfully discussed their summer plans and declared their undying love for each other are sent into a downward spiral of whining, bickering, and complaining. I calculate the number of minutes that we are into summer vacation (164 to be exact) and I quickly shift my mental energy from planning outings to conjuring up possible consequences for fighting and claiming boredom. Because, let’s face it, I can’t deal with that for the next three months of my life.
The next several days are spent battling illness, cursing Pinterest for selling me the summer magic lie AGAIN, and reminding myself that this year, I have a new baby. A three-months-young INFANT who has no desire to partake in our summer plans. He has no ambitions of riding in his car seat all over town, and hates his stroller with an equally shrill passion. Quite frankly, his plans for the summer include several naps per day and eating whenever the wind blows him. Combined with my ten-year-old’s extroverted and on-the-go personality, I’ve had to re-think my summer hopes and dreams. The age gap between my oldest and youngest suddenly seems insane. It’s hot. My curly hair has already turned unmanageably frizzy for the season. The baby doesn’t want to leave the house, and me and my not-at-all-postpartum summer wardrobe are over it, too.
Now a few weeks in to summer vacation, I can say that we have checked a few items off of our “summer to-do” list. Our family even braved RochesterFest one evening, much to the delight of my oldest. We’ve also had our fair share of naps, which pleases my youngest. Never mind that many of those naps started as we were driving in to our own neighborhood. I won’t get into that right now. I’m adjusting my sails. I’m rolling with the punches. I’m choosing to find summer magic where it happens. My oldest reading countless books to my middle is magic. My middle explaining to me how to build a pirate ship in a bottle with twigs and wrapping paper (um, what?) is magic. And the baby’s first laugh is magic.
To all you mamas who might be struggling through summer, chasing that magical unicorn: you are not alone. Carry on, mamas! Find the magic where it happens and cling to it as long as necessary.
What was your summer magic today?
