Dear August

You don’t scare me. You, with your back-to-school sales and disappearing daylight, your sense of foreboding for a lady who is both a teacher and a mom of three kids who are going to school. I suppose I’m supposed to drop everything and rush to buy your twenty-five cent crayons and drag the offspring to squish their freedom feet into starchy shoes. But I’ve still got my hands taped and I’m not going down without a fight.

I think I’ve really tasted victory this summer. I’ve taken on your J and J brothers and kicked them all over this sunny town. And country! Who needs a straw? I’m sucking marrow from a PVC pipe and loving the heck out of these hot summer days.

We’ve frolicked at the beach. Lake AND ocean. Dominated the pool: swimming, sliding, jumping, jumping (and more jumping.) We’ve picked blueberries and made shoebox replicas with popsicle sticks and pipe cleaners. We’ve devoured more watermelons than we can count and way too much ice cream to admit to. We’ve watched fireworks and caught fireflies and somehow kept our skin from catching fire with all of our outside time. We’ve ogled a moose and ridden an Iron Dragon and discovered snakes in bushes.

So bring it, August. I’m not done with summer yet. Others are packing up the beach toys and setting up the homework stations, but I am still full-go summer. I have a rocky river to kayak and some rocks to climb and more blueberries to pick and more trips to the pool. I have miles to run and hot fudge to drizzle and a few more late nights up my sleeve.

And when we report for duty at the end of the month, all sun-kissed and light-haired and bruise-legged and sandy, you’ll see that we made the most of your fiery month. And the rest of the summer, too.