Month: July 2025

Moms don’t get a lot of alone time.  Neither do teachers.  Consequently, we cherish those fleeting moments when nobody needs us. 

Today, the strangest thing happened.  My whole family woke up in the morning, got in their respective vehicles, and drove off to work.  I was still in my pajamas, sipping coffee.  

What is happening?  Is this my life?

The craziest part is that this will also happen tomorrow.  And next week.  And the week after that.  

I’m not even sure I can publish this blog post.  I feel so… spoiled.  Indulgent.  Privileged.  

Irrelevant.  

God.  What the heck is that? I’m having a lot of feelings about this particular transition.  Of course I’m excited.  

But excitement feels like the right emotion for a day or two of this type of freedom. I’m not talking about a day or two.  I’m talking about… from now on. From now on, nobody needs me to drive them to school or practice.  From now on, they can finance their own doordash habits and make their own plans with their friends.  

I was already mourning our summertime trips to the zoo and the children’s museum.  I understood that those were clearly a thing of the past. The oldest is working full time.  But I didn’t think the youngest was going to find a job this summer.  He hasn’t had much luck in his search.  And if he did get a job, I figured it would be maybe ten hours a week.  I thought we still had this one last summer for day trips and beach visits and spontaneous sushi lunches. 

And then he got lucky.  He landed a job.  A good one.  Practically full-time.  Monday through Friday, 8am to 2pm.  He’s really excited.  And I’m really happy for him.  But it happened fast.  I didn’t have time to think it through. 

I thought about the details.  Getting his work permit signed.  Setting up his bank account for direct deposit.  Making sure he had the right clothes and his ID badge and the pep talk about first impressions and working hard and building your reputation. 

But this morning, he drove away, with his lunch box and a smile.  And I hadn’t really thought about what comes next.  

The summer I imagined is gone.  I’m not going to have any spontaneous sushi lunches with my kid.  I’m not going to get to bring him and his friends to the beach on a random Wednesday.  I’m not going to get to drag him to an obscure museum because we’re both a little bored.  

That makes me sad.  Like, really sad.  Sadder than I expected.  

My husband just called, expecting me to be joyful.  I could hear the smile in his voice when he asked, “How’s your day all by yourself?”  

I sobbed into the phone.  “I didn’t expect to be sad, but I’m (sob) so (sob)…. saaaaad.” 

“Seriously?” He asked.  “I thought I was calling for good news.  I thought you’d be thrilled.”

I also thought I’d be thrilled.  This sadness snuck up on me. 

*****

Fast forward six hours.  I’m done crying, and it’s actually been a pretty good day.  I read a little, ran some errands, did some chores… I went to the library and checked a couple of items off my to-do list.  I talked to my sister, texted a friend, and cuddled my dog.  I made plans for a walk with a friend tomorrow, and I’m feeling a little more like myself.

It’s an odd feeling, but I think that’s my mission at this phase in my life.  To feel more and more like myself.  I’ll always be a mom… but I’m defined by it less and less as they get older.  I have to remember what ELSE I am.  I’m a reader.  A biker.  A friend.  A sister.  A writer.  A cook. A camper.  A protester.  And I can be new things, too. A friend and I want to take a pottery class.   I could be a thrower (I had to google “What do you call someone who uses a pottery wheel”).   Another friend offered to teach me pickleball.  I just found a new podcast and I’m really loving my daily walks and crocheting beautiful things. 

*****

My friends with little kids are jealous of this time I have to myself.  My friends with older kids will say, “At least they’re still at home with you.”  Every phase brings joys and challenges.  I could miss what was and be sad.  I could worry about what it will feel like when they’re gone.  Or I could just be HERE.  In these six sweet weeks of summer that will be unlike any other.  Enjoying them when they’re around… and finding myself when they’re not.  

I’ve been on summer vacation for two weeks, but I still can’t sleep past 6am.  I try to make myself stay in bed until 6:30; in my brain, that’s a more reasonable time to be awake.  It happens every year.  By August, I’ll be able to sleep in until 9 on occasion- just in time to go back to a 5am alarm.  I know, I know.  What a problem.  My husband has no sympathy.  His alarm goes off at 4am year round.  

I’m 46 years old.  I started school at 5 years old, right?  So technically, this is my 41st summer vacation.  Holy cow.  

Why does summer vacation still surprise me, then?  Why am I always unprepared for it?  

I’ve been seeing a bunch of reels about teachers on summer vacation; usually they’re funny or cute, but sometimes they try to capture the surreal, shocking shift of it.  That helps me to see that I’m not alone, at least. 

While I’m never emotionally prepared for summer, I’ve been doing it long enough to know that there are predictable phases.  The problem is that I bounce between them like a ping-pong ball.  I never know what phase I’ll be in until I’m in it.  

Teachers will tell you that the end of the year is the hardest part of teaching.  Behaviors are amped up, paperwork is endless, we’re frantically trying to get through the curriculum and grade all the things.  We have to pack up our classrooms and take everything off the walls at the same time we’re giving finals and calling parents and writing final reports.  It is a frantic push to the last day.  

And then it just… stops.  

It’s so abrupt.  

*****

The next day, you wake up in the morning, and you’ll get one of these: 

Relief.  You’re at peace.  The whole day is ahead of you.  You can sip your coffee and sit on your deck and listen to the birds.  You don’t need a plan.  You can take the day as it comes, and everything about it feels beautiful. 

Recovery.  You’re traumatized from the weight of the last few weeks, and it catches up with you.  You can’t leave your couch, and you binge watch a full series on Netflix.  Dinner is takeout because you’re too tired from being tired. 

Motivation. You have ALL SUMMER.  You’re going to eat healthy, exercise, and lose 30 pounds.  You’re going to paint all the trim and clean out the garage and organize the closets.  You’re going to landscape the backyard and stain the deck and start a garden and finally write that memoir.

Guilt. Your spouse or your roommate or your parents or your kids are out there WORKING.  They get up every morning and bust their butts.  And you feel bad, so you become the household manager.  You take over responsibilities that are shared during the school year.  Pick up the prescriptions, make the meals, mow the lawn.  You take it all on because, after all, you’re not working.  

Work.  You promised yourself you wouldn’t check your email this week.  But the incredible, hard working secretary at school just needed one more piece of information.  So you pull up the IEPs on your computer and you create a spreadsheet, and you try not to look at the rest of your inbox. 

Leisure.  You schedule a pedicure.  You meet a friend for lunch.  You order a cocktail at noon and you chat for two hours because you’re both teachers and you have nowhere to be. You sit in the park with your book because sunshine feels nice. 

More work.  There is that new curriculum for next year.  You just need to preview the first unit.  And if you plan the first week, the transition will be smoother.  And just one online class.  It’s fine.  You’re not working.  I mean… not really. 

Panic. Where has the time gone?  You haven’t done half of your projects.  Did you even PLAN a vacation?  You were supposed to do all those day trips.  You were supposed to visit family.  You were supposed to paint the trim.  

Frantic Fun.  You look at the days that are left.  You fill the calendar with beach days, amusement parks, and road trips.  You should know yourself better than to think those things could have been spontaneous. WE ARE GOING TO HAVE FUN THIS SUMMER IF IT KILLS US! 

Satisfaction.  You had a good day.  You did something fun.  You moved your body.  You accomplished a task.  You talked to a friend.  What more can you ask for? 

*****

Each day is a surprise.  For me, Monday was already frantic fun.  We were at Six Flags, which is only enjoyable in theory or with a good friend.  Thankfully, I was there with my bestie and her kids.  Yesterday, I was in guilt mode.  When my husband got home from work, I proudly presented him with a list of all I had accomplished, and he looked at me like I was insane.  I’m hoping today is something a little less frenetic, but I’ve been awake for an hour and a half, and I’m still not sure where the day is going to go.  

Over my 41 summer vacations, I have learned one lesson.  I will ALWAYS get to the end of it and wonder where the time went. Over the past decade, the method has evolved, but I know I need to document the summer.  I’ve kept a calendar so we could look back on all we did.  I’ve kept a photo journal, so I can see all of the memories together.  I’ve kept an actual journal, so I can reflect and revisit.  But it is essential for me to keep a record.  When the summer ends, instead of feeling regret or sadness or disappointment, I take a moment and look back.  

As I flip through the journal or scroll through the photos, I cannot help but feel blessed. Camping trips and herb gardens.  Boating and grilling and painting.  Learning and working and sweating and swimming. Forty-one beautiful summers. 

How did I get so lucky?