Summer's swan song

As my friend's son was preparing to leave for his freshman year in college this past week, I commented to my friend that I supposed the only way to get through her sorrow was to focus on what an exciting time this will be for her son. Easy for me to say. When my time comes, I suspect I will spend the weeks before and after my sons' departures ugly-crying locked in my room. Maybe my advice holds some truth, though, so I'm trying to focus on that as I prepare for the upcoming school-time transitions.

Beginnings and endings, they always get me. I have such mixed feelings about this time of year. Though all conventional wisdom tells me summer is supposed to be carefree, the season can be challenging and overwhelming for me. For the boys, I try to find that perfect balance between scheduled and free to just be. I inevitably fail, often either feeling crazily over-scheduled or sitting there with wide expanses of time wondering how I could possibly fill them.

It's hard to keep constructively occupied three little dudes with different interests. This one wants to go to the nature center, while another turns up his nose at the idea, and the third says he wants to come along but when we arrive and have walked approximately 100 steps, he can't possibly go any farther. A lot of days are some variation of that.

Complaining aside, though, I like having all three boys home with me, or at least the idea of it. It makes me happy knowing I can see their smiling, naughty faces whenever I want. It seems that this time of year I can't shake the feeling that somehow I've failed at summer. I haven't been the least bit carefree.

The fact that Mother Nature has dealt us this final blast of heat has helped me through my uncertain feelings. I heard on NPR recently that violent crimes spike when temperatures climb. While I am confident that I won't be committing any crimes, this weather certainly does make me ever so slightly deranged and irritable. My heart may be saying I don't want to see the boys go back to school, but my head knows it's time. Besides, this place is a mess, and I need to whip it into shape. 

I took Ben to his middle school last week to scope out his locker, try his combination, walk his schedule. We rode our bikes so he will feel confident riding to school if he so chooses. By the end, he was pretty excited, and I was happy for him. This was a first. I'd been feeling the tiniest bit apprehensive. Today I dropped my oldest at his first cross country practice. This is just the first of many new opportunities he'll get to experience in the coming months. He is ready for this.

Paul has grown so amazingly much over his school career. I know he will be happy to go back to his friends. I'm certain that 4K will bring all kinds of surprises for Gus and for us. 

Fall is my favorite season. I love the weather, the changing colors, the getting back to some semblance of structure and organization. Ultimately, I feel happy and hopeful. I just need to get past this little bit of malaise.

I will remember: this an exciting time for my boys. I will try to hold that thought in my head as next week I watch each son take one more tiny step away from me.

Summer's end brings a storm of emotion

It was one of those days that had turned into one of those nights. Sometimes when it's like this, I have a hard time telling if it's the boys or me or both who's in a difficult place, but either way, it was a rough one.

I'd spent the better part of three hours in the morning driving Paul and Gus around the Fox Valley for various lessons, so by lunchtime, I was already pooped.

In the afternoon, my sons fell into their routines of annoying one another - and me. Ben is a master at getting under Paul's skin, and Paul gives him just the reaction he wants, screeching exasperatedly. "Beeen!" And Gus, well, he just goes around acting like his crazy self, and that's enough.

When the boys get bored, they start to play what Mark and I like to call grab-ass. They get all over each other, wrestling around, sitting on top of one another. It doesn't seem to bother them - in fact they seem to enjoy it - but I can't stand it. "The boys are playing G-A again," I'll sigh to Mark. It was that kind of a day.

We were finishing dinner and I told the boys that we needed to go to Rogan's to get shoes for my cousin's wedding. You know how boys love to shoe shop, especially when it's dressy shoes! So you can guess how that went over.

I had also mentioned that the basement was getting a little messy again and suggested that they may want to tidy up sometime soon before it got out-of-control messy, which is wont to happen. Mark started cleaning the kitchen and dispatched the boys to the basement to clean.

Ben immediately began bossing around his brothers and was unhappy that we called him on it. When we told them it was time to go to the store, Ben was fuming.

I must interject here with a story. When I was growing up, my mom would go on these tirades when I called her "she" or "her." Cocky shite that I was, I pretended I didn't understand why it got her so worked up, but of course I did. I'd be complaining to my dad about something my mom had said or done and talking about my mom in front of her like she wasn't even there. To this day, I think twice about referring to my mom with a pronoun.

Of course, divine justice intervened, and Ben gave me a dose of my own medicine last night. To Mark: "She told me I had to clean the basement, and now she's telling me I have to go to the store!" Suffice it to say, I understood my mom better than ever.

On the way to the store, we had a fruitless discussion about respect with Ben. It left all parties in a foul mood. Once at the store, things weren't terrible except Gus running around like he owned the place. "Look at my new shoes!" he gleefully shouted to a teen-age employee. It would have been amusing, but I was in no mood.

By the time we got home, it was nearly 8 p.m., and we still had to get through the whole bedtime routine. Ben chose that time to start in on Paul, and I chose that time to have a meltdown that involved screaming and a slammed door.

After very briefly feeling vindicated and righteous, I felt regretful and sheepish. We got Paul and Gus off to sleep, and I indulged in a long, cleansing sob. By the time I was through, I felt wrung out, utterly exhausted, like I'd purged myself of all my emotions.

While I'm sure I surprised the boys with my outburst, I shocked myself a little, too. Yes, it was a hard day, but I didn't see myself heading for the cliff. Today, more clear-headed, I think it was the culmination of one hard summer. I tell myself every June that I'll do better, but the truth is it's just challenging to have the four of us spend so much time together.

I'm pretty private about matters of religion, but as a person of faith, I loved this passage in a book I'm reading, Carry on, Warrior, Thoughts on Life Unarmed by Glennon Doyle Melton: "I like to compare God to the sunrise. That sun shows up every morning, no matter how bad you've been the night before. It shines without judgment. It never withholds."

I woke up this morning to the sun shining and felt grateful to have yet another chance to get it right. I offered apologies to the boys, and things are back to normal in every way, complete with bickering and even grab-ass.

I don't know if you've ever paid attention to the quote at the top of my blog, a line from the lyrics of the Avett Brothers song, "Living of Love." "When the days aren't easy and the nights are rough, when they ask you what you're thinking of, say love, say for me love."

Those words mean so much to me because they encapsulate my greatest wish. I try to be a good mom, but occasionally I behave badly. In spite of that, I hope that, in the end, all that shines through to the boys is how very much I love them.