There are no words that ring terror in a mom’s soul more than “summer vacation.” Ok… “Mom, I’m pregnant”… maybe… under some circumstances could possibly surpass it as most terrifying phrase. But given the way I’m feeling at the moment, I may later question the validity of even that comparison.
As much as I’m experiencing nausea and empathy pains for my son, who is now up to his neck in his first experience with a real “finals week.” I’m also pretty sure that what I’m experiencing is complete and utter panic. By the end of this week summer will officially be upon us. Though I’m almost certain that summer vacation with two teens is not a legit reason to retreat to our panic room with a cache of gluten-free crackers and a 12-pack Mike’s Hard Lemonade. I am nonetheless tempted.
My husband, the pragmatic bastard that he is, had to remind me that we don’t actually have a panic room. What the hell kind of house doesn’t have a panic room? Jesus. What are we supposed to do when someone breaks in while we’re here? He had to remind me that the chances of this happening were so small that it didn’t make sense to have a special room for it. Besides, we live in a nice area with a low crime rate, and we don’t really have anything that anyone would want to steal. Ok. He’s got me there. But now where am I supposed to go drink my Mike’s and rock gently in the corner? He suggested yoga. In September. Sweet Jesus, someone help me. I think this is what heart palpitations feel like.
No. No way. I’m not doing this. I’ve decided I’m embracing this summer like a child.
Summer is a lot like a jelly doughnut. It’s all completely awesome, right? And when you really bite into it, it makes a mess—and makes it really difficult to appear professional in any way. You just have to dive in and go for it. Jelly be damned. That’s my plan for the summer. I’m diving in. I’m self-employed, and I don’t have to be professional, dammit. My posts will be sporadic. And I probably won’t get to sit down and write as often as I’d like. But I’m going to enjoy the hell out of this. Because I just don’t have that many more years that these little people will be here to turn my summers into jelly doughnuts.
Now I’m pissed I’ve used this analogy. I’m jonesing for an actual jelly doughnut. And no one makes really good gluten-free jelly doughnuts.
Shit.
Oh well. Summer is here. Let’s do this. Happy jelly doughnuts, people!
