All the reasons why I hate the end of summer

standard August 15, 2017 Leave a response

All over the web you can find stories and pictures of moms celebrating the return to school or moms lamenting that their kids don’t go back until after Labor Day. Meanwhile I’m over here just as upset as my kids that school is starting the day after tomorrow. Really, I just hate the end of summer.

Of course, I’m not letting on that I hate this time of year as much as they do. That wouldn’t be seemly. No, I’m being all upbeat for them about how great it is! New friends! New teachers! Cool learning! Wheeeee!

Meanwhile, inside I’m all scroogey and sad.

Why, you ask?

Ah, well so many reasons. (And interestingly not the same ones as the ones I wrote about 5 years ago.)

I hate the end of summer

1. I’m going to miss having the kids around.

One of them mastered making mac and cheese in the Instant pot this summer. And she keeps baking us treats. And they’re chilling with their friends and sharing jokes and stories. And they’re just kinda fun to have around all the time.

2. I’m going to miss the flexibility of being able to just go do something fun if we want. 
Ice cream. Day trips to the beach. Target. The pool. Just chilling downtown. Lunches at Chipotle. All on a whim or at a moment’s notice. I mean, duh, I can still do these things, but it’s less fun without the kids. Turns out, the people at Baskin Robbins look at you funny if you order all the candy toppings when you’re on your own.
3.  I loathe the increased anxiety for the older kid and everything that comes with it.
Social Anxiety is a bitch. And in the summer it takes a bit of a break. Then in the fall it comes back with a vengeance. School is HARD for a kid who finds crowds stressful. Like, really, really hard. Especially when those crowds are stuck in a classroom for prescribed amounts of time and you can’t really escape. The emotional upheaval has to get dealt with at home and it’s a strain on the whole family.
4. I looooooathe homework.
There. I said it. I’m one of the moms who thinks that there should never, ever be any homework. Because it gets in the way of our afternoon ice cream outings. And also because it’s a dumb waste of time, energy and stress. Especially for moms.
5. I despise packing lunches.
Oh, the bliss of not having to pack lunches for the last 9 weeks. It’s been amazing.
No, my kids won’t eat sandwiches or anything else that can be prepped ahead of time.
Yes, they’ll eat the same. exact. lunch I’ve been packing for them since they started elementary school.
No, I don’t think I’ll ever stop hating this chore. Nor will I ever feel wealthy enough to just throw in the towel and get them hot lunch.
Please don’t suggest I make them pack their own lunches. The stress mentioned in #3 is already enough for me to deal with.
6.  I struggle with a mix of feelings about having my workload pretty much doubles with volunteer stuff
Because I LIKE the volunteer stuff I do, but there’s rather a lot of it and it’s quite overwhelming at the start of the year. And that’s all I’m going to say about it. Because it’s not PC for me to hate volunteering and also it’s an important part of my kids’ education.
7. It’s kinda the start of a new year and that comes with its own baggage.
Like the kind that makes you take stock of personal achievements and come up lacking. I mean, what have you accomplished lately? Huh? Well, probably more than me. But that’s ok, I still love you.
8. It’s almost the end of the year and that comes with its own baggage.
The start of school seems to be the international signal for the start of the race to the finish. The race to win the whole year. From a business perspective. A frenzy to MEET ALL THE GOALS! MAKE ALL THE SALES! PROMOTE ALL THE THINGS!
Dude, I’m exhausted just thinking about it and so far I’m only just getting wind of the increased work-load on my end.
But it’s not all bad. At least I get to go school supply shopping and soon, really, really soon, the Pumpkin Spice Lattes will be back. Hush now, a mom has to take her joy where she can find it.

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