I’m getting excited about summer. How weird is that? I think the last time I felt true excitement for the summer months was 14 years ago when I finished graduate school.
I have implemented a summer plan that draws from the good parts of past summers and sloughs off the soul-sucking parts of previous years. It’s gonna be good, guys. I know it and I will accept nothing less.
Summer is free to go ahead and throw whatever negative crap at me that it wishes, but it will be met with a moderately pissed-off woman repelling all of it with a crap-blocking shield of Hell No.
We have a weekly schedule for Jack’s day camp, Charlie’s reading camp, Henry’s basketball camp, hiking, swimming, the gardens, museums, nap time (mostly for my benefit), swimming, hiking, napping, and swimming. The schedule also includes regular behavior therapy and quiet time in addition to nap time, because summer days can be these endless frenzies if moms don’t impose some structure.
I got myself some cool, flowy pants and some blousy tees that are like, “Yeah, I like Cokes and eating spoonfuls of peanut butter topped with chocolate chips. Deal with it.”
I’m taking back summer, people.