Some days it feels like I haven’t done anything this summer except yell at the kids to turn down the iPad and that I’d be working “just 10 more minutes.” Like I’ve made dozens of pots of sloshy Kraft Dinner (I always screw up and add too much milk) and even more peanut butter sandwiches on leftover hotdog buns because I didn’t feel like going out to buy bread.
Everywhere I look, I see families that are “doing summer” better than me. Families who have weeks of vacation and weekends off together, perfect for setting out on road trips and beach adventures. Summer stresses me out because I’m not a sun person or a beach person or even an outdoorsy person. I feel like a quality summer is measured by picture-perfect, sandy-footed beach visits and therefore I always fail.
I see all of this on Facebook, by the way, when I’m on deadline and cranky and the Spongebob Squarepants theme song is echoing in my brain (“Absorbant and yellow and porous is he!”). As I’ve said before, working from home is both the best thing in the world and the worst thing in the world — and it leans towards “worst” during the summer months.
I’d been planning to send the kids to morning day camp several days a week so I could work without feeling guilty about ignoring them. They must have sensed that camp attendance would be the perfect trifecta of convenient, affordable, and good for Mommy’s mental health: they declined the offer.
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