five days and counting

We have done it all. We have gone swimming, we have gone camping. We have gone to every local park and not-so-local park so many times they don't even want to go to the park anymore. We have done arts and craft and board games. We have had playgroups. We have gone to see movies (well, a movie: Cars. Two year-olds aren't much for sitting for two hours yet). We have gone hiking and biking. We have celebrated birthdays, Memorial Day, and bonded with our neighbors. We have had fun.

But dear God, will this summer ever end?

They are at each other's throats. I am at their throats. I am at my limit.

And somewhere in the back of my mind is the maternal guilt that stems from feeling like I have to enjoy every single minute with them and savor each moment or someday I'll be filled with regret. My pediatrician even unknowingly re-enforced the guilt for me at one of our last check-ups when I was telling her about how my older boy will be in 1st grade this year for a full day of school and my middle guy will be in pre-school three afternoons a week. She immediately said, "That's fantastic! You can spend some one-on-one time with your youngest!" And in my head I was thinking, "No, he'll be napping. That's exactly why I picked afternoon pre-school for the middle guy. So I could have some quiet time to say...recharge...express myself creatively...have a complete thought!" But of course I just smiled and nodded about all the fun my baby and I would be having.

Later, after thinking about it, I realized: Hey, she has two young children at home and she's a doctor for heaven's sake! While they are being cared for by someone else, she gets to use her brain every day. She gets to eat her lunch alone if she wants to and not have to get little people back-wash in her drink. And when she's done she doesn't have to clean up after anyone else or deal with naptimes. I'm not trying to bash moms who work outside of the home, but really, sometimes I think they have no clue what it's like to be home in the trenches day in and day out.

So I've decided to cut myself some slack. I'm giving myself permission to look forward to their return to school. I'm going to say it's okay to feel frazzled and irritable and generally annoyed. And I promise I won't regret being an anti-pollyanna mom some day in the future when they're grown and I'm looking back wondering if I made the most of every single minute with them. I'll remind myself that my front porch was covered in a flour-and-water-paste that took months to come up all because I wanted to let them pretend to make cakes. I'll remember how every time I broke out the paint they would immediately be covered from head to toe and it would take an hour to clean up three minutes worth of fun for them. And they probably won't even remember it! Someday they'll be in therapy bitching to their therapist about how they didn't get enough love and attention.

So screw it. Here's to the end of summer.