It's August!
Kids collectively groan
It’s August!
School is about to start again.
They lament the last days
at the pool
at the park at dusk
at friends’ houses late on Tuesday nights.
The prospect of waking up early
and carrying heavy backpacks
and eating lunch out of insulated zipper bags
makes them dread this month.
I hate eating lunchbox food too.
But I could never hate August.
Each July, I used to
browse through catalogues.
Lands’ End and Delia’s.
Maybe a trip to the mall.
Who am I going to be this year?
Which outfit would that girl wear?
The day we drove to Walmart to pick out
Scented pencils and
Illustrated folders and
tiny erasers that looked like ice cream?
Practically Christmas morning.
Eventually,
I helped run orientations.
Student leadership team.
Cheering and jumping,
trying to transfer my enthusiasm for
the new school year
to August-haters
who didn’t want to be there.
But I wanted to be there.
I loved everything:
Experiencing the secret thrill of perusing a fresh syllabus;
Combing eagerly through reading lists.
Carving out a little homework station in my bedroom.
Lights dim, background music playing softly.
Savoring the feeling of accomplishment
with each completed assignment.
Checking another box.
School’s over for me, now.
I’ve graduated.
I drive my kids to
registration days and
shoe shopping and
sports physicals.
I still enjoy the rhythm.
New school year, new me.
After all,
It’s August!
I still have projects to do.
I just don’t get gold stars anymore.
Cleaning the storage room,
power washing the house,
scheduling appointments I’ve been putting off.
I still look at catalogues.
What kind of outfit should I buy
if I want to become the type of mom
who remembers to work out
after she drops her kids off at school?
Which outfit would that girl wear?
Maybe this year I will keep up with meal prep.
Finally learn some carpentry skills.
Return to ballet.
I still freshen up my workspace.
I will definitely buy some sort of new planner
And a pretty set of highlighters.
I’ll place a vase of garden blooms on the corner of my desk.
Lights dim, music playing softly.
I’ll write an essay.
Turn the blank page and write my next chapter.
It’s August!
xoxo,
