Summer School and Lessons Learned

The panic is setting in. I lasted longer than usual this year, but this morning I am losing my mind. To a teacher, the early days of August do little to relax. I think of the plans I am not making for school, and I worry about all of the things I did not get done this summer with my time off. Yes, there is definite panic.

Any Mother worries, but in August, the teacher Mother could win Olympic medals for negative nostalgia. Did I do enough with my children this summer? Was I at all times patient and nurturing and clever? Were there enough enrichment trips to the zoo and the museums and the local rivers to search for crawfish? In a word, no. I know I am delinquent in many categories, including but not limited to: family bike riding, chore list enforcement, backyard baseball playing, and summer bathing. The shaving cream I bought them to play with in June mocks me from the bathroom cabinet. Junie B. Jones and The Boxcar Children are enjoying an unnatural friendship on the coffee table since the dutiful readers won’t touch them. And nobody learned to tie their shoes this summer, either.

And how about the way I used summer free time to prepare for my busy school year? Not so much really. How is it even possible to teach 2700 years of history in five major cultures? Or to put a creative spin on the same old writing assignments? Or how about jazzing up the old standby stories to make them relevant for a twelve year old? I was so overwhelmed that I didn’t even start.

So what DID I do? How have I used my sixty plus worry-free summer days? I can barely remember the early days when our amazement at the free time was as new as a squawking baby bird. First, we needed some days on the couch to recuperate from a busy school year. And then we flung ourselves into a summer at the pool. A million “Watch this Mommys” from a child doing a headstand or sticking his head in the water. Hour after hour of chlorine and sunshine, diving and snacking. Then there was a week for Bible School, another (hotter) week for soccer camp, and of course the all-important swimming lessons. And I can’t forget all the sand in my car, brought in by the nefarious pirates parading the local beaches! In between, a lot of cuddles and backyard Indian games and popsickles.

And for the Mommy? A new trend of setting the alarm and doing something for me. Finding a voice for myself that does not involve assigning grades or soothing boo-boos. Now I am the bird breaking out of my shell in my new morning reverie. And the early summer squawking is starting to turn a bit more melodious as the mornings progress.

But the clock is ticking and the calendar flips. And my summer schedule and savage tan will both soon be fading. What will stay with me? The memories of the high dive and the humor of my offspring. The endless hours of water sports at the pool and beach. The backyard lightning bug adventures and grilled burgers. And most importantly, I think, the tenuous confidence of a fledgling writer with a story to tell.