June 24, 2016 by Heather
I remember a couple years ago I made a Summer Bucket List. Parker was old enough to get out and do stuff and make things, and I was finally feeling back to myself after the fuzzy first two years of his life. These things take time, judge not. Suffice to say, I had decided to embrace the mom thing and go all in like the other moms on Pinterest and Instasham. It was going to be a summer to remember. I even made a little sign with all the Bucket things on it.
Long story short, I think we managed to do like one and a half things on it, two tops.
Spring is such a tease. The weather is nice and the air is fresh and things are turning green. You can sit outside in the evenings and go for a night run without snorting and/or swallowing fifteen bugs. Then summer hits, and I hate summer. I really do hate it. I always have. And like the Bucket List Summer, I try my hardest at the beginning. My intentions are fun and good, then the mosquitoes carry them away.
See, the problem is A) I hate being hot, and B) I sweat. It’s not a glistening upper lip sweat that you can discreetly wipe away, or even just armpit sweat that can be controlled by a deadly anti-persperant. It’s elbow sweat. Belly button sweat. Upper back sweat, behind the knee sweat. All the sweats in all the spots seeping through all the clothes. And it doesn’t, like, level off. There is no sweat plateau. It gushes forth with abandon, and it’s not cute.
So no, I don’t want to go anywhere. I don’t want to play outside, unless I’m in a pool, and I don’t want to be shlepping my sweet kids to and from the car to go to the library or the splash pad or the park. Dear Lord, not the park.
This summer we’re just taking it as it comes. No lists, no real plans. I had registered for a summer class but ended up dropping it so I could more fully enjoy my least favorite season with my most favorite people. I haven’t had a sno-cone or set up a lemonade stand or been to any sort of splash pad (PTL), but we have had fun. Slow mornings, easy afternoons, Netflix nights. I’m taking back summer, one miserable day at a time.
Can anyone else relate to this Seasonal Funk? I’ve been telling Andrew that I have SAD — Seasonal Affective Disorder — which he says only happens in the winter, which, for the record, is false because I googled it ok.
Happy Friday! Stay cool and dry. You know I will.