Right about now the better moms are finishing up their summer bucket lists. Social media says so. They are spending their final summer days baking pies, constructing fairy houses and making one last trip to the beach to fly handmade kites. Good for them. They rock.
I however am not doing any of those things right about now. In fact I’m kind of not doing shit in these final weeks of summer. Yesterday I wore sweat pants all day long and didn’t put on a bra or a lick of make up on. Oh yeah. A real picture of beauty over here ya’ll. You see I stopped relishing in the glorious, long, hot dog days of summer about two weeks ago. That is when I realized that September was coming.
It takes me the entire month of August to get this family in gear and prepared to re-enter the world of civility. Aside from buying our four children new shoes, clothes and backpacks we have needed to get haircuts, make trips to the dentist and the doctor’s office. I have to locate hair brushes, cut down dirty fingernails and force my kids to read some books (better make sure they still got it!) If their brains have been fried from an entire summer of sugar and U Tube videos I would feel better knowing it from the get go. I don’t have time to wrap up bucket lists, I don’t even have time to properly wipe my own ass!
The problem is I always forget about my hatred for summer bucket lists and by the time the next summer rolls around I make them without fail. I lurk around Pinterest and stumble through hundreds of blogs written by innovative and energetic parents with superior summer ideas. I write activities and excursions down and swear I will execute them with the girls. It will all be glorious. We will frolic through fields of gold, feast on juicy berries and make pies for the entire neighborhood! We will fly kites, construct sand castles, fairy houses and forts fit for a king. We will straight kick summer’s ass!
Then one week into summer I mentally burn the list to the ground. No freaking way is this stuff happening. Summer sports rule our lives and the kids want to lay on the couch and vegetate. I can not say I blame them. My summer bucket list outings take three hours to prepare for and by then the kids are ornery and I hate everything, but mostly myself for even attempting this unicorn of a summer bucket list.
I give up.
We spend our days at the pool (arguing and whining) and trolling Target. We ride our scooters around the neighborhood and jump on the trampoline with the neighbor kids. We make forts, but they are the crappy kind that you make with a sheet and a few dining room chairs. The kids play with eachother because quite frankly they have no other choice. I yell, “go play!” every seven seconds and guess what?
They go play.
They use their imaginations, their siblings and their toys and they find a way to enjoy June, July and August without summer bucket lists of grandiose measure. They seem fine, good actually! And it is because of this observation that I am letting myself off the hook for this most recent mom failure. I have no more room for mom guilt, so the summer bucket list that didn’t get done is not getting a spot. There are plenty of other things that I seem to be doing right with the girls. The school shopping is done. The four thousand forms due by August 28th are completed…early might I add! We are signed up for fall sports and I have even managed to make all pertinent dentist and doctors appointments. Go me! So my summer parenting isn’t glamorous and it definitely is not Pinterest worthy, but I think I am still doing some solid mothering over here.
I’m calling the Summer Bucket List Fail an ironic win.
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