I find it hard to let go of summer. Even still, as we’ve been in school for over a month. Even now, as the calendar informs me it’s still summer until Tuesday. Even so, with the temps sometimes cool and crisp, sometimes hot and humid. The sun and the sky and the hidden flowers in shady patches make me want to wrap my arms around this summer season, this particular one in the year 2014, and never, ever let go.
I am not a summer person, but I find myself clinging to these daylight hours, the crickets chirping, the open windows, this beautiful, too-quickly-passing summer. Maybe I fell in love with summer this year, and all the things summer brings. Maybe I’m not ready for our fling to be over, even though the leave crunching under my feet as I run fills my heart and soul with deep joy.
Stay. Won’t you?
You know the kind of
day week. The one where nothing goes the way you want it to go. From work projects to runs to scheduling to meals that flop to kids that whine to a dog that pesters the ever-loving snot out of you to the fact that you really haven’t seen your husband at all this week to gas leaks to mean kids to Open House at the school where you learn all of the OMGWTFBBQ about standardized testing thrust upon third graders who are just eight years old to laundry that just won’t flipping wash itself to sheer exhaustion.
Yeah. That was the week we endured.
And I didn’t want to be at the soccer field for an “our game last week sucked so bad” practice at five o’clock on a Friday evening. Because who wants to be at the soccer field for practice—good, bad, or otherwise—at five o’clock on a Friday evening? Not this lady, that’s for certain.
But I got us there. On time.
BigBrother ran off to do whatever it is you do at soccer practice (I did not play soccer; soccer didn’t exist in Rural Ville in the 80s) while LittleBrother and I sought out some shade. I spread out his blanket, and he sat and read for quite some time.
Watching him read, watching him not mind that his Friday evening was being eaten up by an unnecessary practice, made me rethink my stinky attitude.
I mean, what was I going to do?
Go home, finish the dinner I didn’t get finished, toss in some laundry, clean up the week’s worth of clutter in the kitchen, put away my laundry, and then go to bed somewhat early in hopes of having a decent long run tomorrow. No, sitting in the shade with my younger son while my older son ran off some energy didn’t seem too bad.
And so I watched as BigBrother messed up the same drill approximately eight times before he understood what the coach was trying to get him to accomplish. I smiled when he got it right, when I watched the recognition cross his face and the pride puff up his chest. I read a little bit, but my reading was interrupted by a done-reading LittleBrother who apparently did yoga in class with his teacher today. He showed me a bunch of poses, and then asked me to show him some others. I showed him a nice twisting chair which always is great for my back problems. His favorite pose is the Tree Pose. So we had a Tree Pose Off; I won for duration but he won for utter cuteness.
And then practice was over. The world didn’t end. My bad mood lifted not because I went to practice, but because I chose to let my bad mood lift. I’m not always great at living in the moment, at letting the gunk just roll off my shoulders and instead feeling the late September sun shining down on the top of my dark-haired head, letting the sun warm me first from the outside and then all the way into my core, my center. I struggle with not having that 100% control over my life, my schedule; when I write my week down in pen, I don’t want to scratch things out or use white out or have to cram a practice into a spot where a practice wasn’t written. But sometimes, you’re meant to sit in the sun on a September evening without realizing, without it being written perfectly in pen back on Sunday night.
Yes, it was a lovely Friday evening indeed.