Memorial Day

There are only 16 more days of school.

I said it slowly to myself after my daughter told me today, drawing out each word to shore myself up to the fact of this inevitable future: six. teen. more. days.

And then what?

Then we can stay in our jammies longer I guess. Then I won’t get in trouble for forgetting a permission slip. Then I’ll have a calendar devoid of meetings, of recitals, practices, of karate. Then, um…. Then what?

My sister said to me years ago, I think it was Memorial Day weekend in fact: I can’t wait for summer frankly, she said, I am sick of this crap. At the time, with a four year old at school three mornings a week, a three year old at school two mornings, and a six month old still glued to me, I almost fell off my chair. Wha? I said. No school? How will we survive?

Now, I know. (It takes one to teach one.) This May, I am ready for summer and over the busy-ness business of the end of the school year. I am done with forgetting things (like those permission slips or truth be told, lunch), with scolding children for not doing homework, with shifting between laundry and deep thoughts and real thinking to hustle the kids from the fun of the outside to bed because it’s a SCHOOL NIGHT.

I am ready for summer.

But I fear it, too. Summer in the suburbs means a lot of things. Around here, it kind of separates the girls from the women -- the clubs we don’t belong to, the friendships that wane because of that, the camps, the vacations, the boats that pull everyone in so many different directions. It can be a long, lonely, sweaty couple of months sometimes. I know two weeks into July I will be missing the hustle of the school morning, missing the silence of the house for those 15 minutes after everyone leaves, and missing the chats on the playground at pick-up time, which are often the only decent ones I get all day.

My neighbors and I have made a vow to power through the long days together. Our kids roam from house to house, and we’ve promised to do the same. Come by for an iced tea, we’ll weed together, a cocktail at 5 maybe? We’ll turn on the sprinklers and say yes to the ice-cream truck; we’ll be “nice” moms, or at least try; we'll learn to love sand everywhere.

So, to summer, well, bring it on.