Oh, how I once cherished our time together. The anticipation of your arrival would fill me with excitement, akin to dreaming of a delicious muffuletta after a period of cleansing. Your warmth is a radiant force, fostering growth in everything around you. You free my toes, spirit, and body from the confines of heavy layers that have begun to feel like a straightjacket.
For many, you herald the start of short shorts and carefree weekends by the beach. You inspire joyous celebrations, vibrant street fairs, and delightful outdoor dining experiences. Yet, as the years pass, I find myself grappling with the complexities that have emerged in our relationship—namely, my kids.
Now, you speed by in a blur, leaving me feeling overwhelmed. You bring with you bittersweet moments filled with ceremonies marking the rapid milestones of my children’s lives. The whirlwind of end-of-year recitals, final games, classroom parties, stepping-up ceremonies, and graduations turns me into a hot mess, reminding me that these moments are fleeting.
The most challenging part? I yearn to be present and fully engaged in each event, but I often feel like I’m only managing to half-heartedly participate. With back-to-back ceremonies and events, I find myself longing for a reprieve, something I haven’t desired in over two decades. Just when I think I have a handle on it, you throw in another half-day or random day off—every working parent’s logistical nightmare. Even if your intention is to wrap up the school year neatly, the pace you set leaves me feeling utterly drained.
On top of that, there’s the pressure to plan and engage—to bask in the delightful weather before your friend July arrives. You inundate me with barbecues and work-related social events, tugging at my desire to be a well-rounded adult who lives for more than just my kids. And to add insult to injury, I’ve reached that age where wearing short shorts feels like an inappropriate choice.
I recognize that I’ve grown distant from you, and it’s not your fault—it’s mine. Life is moving too fast. I need time to process my feelings and space to manage my expectations. Once the kids leave home, I’ll consider rekindling our carefree romance, perhaps even enjoying quiet moments with you on a chaise longue, a magazine in hand, while my toes sink into the warm sand, rather than spending my days in a park full of rowdy tweens or dodging soaking water balloons from exuberant third-graders. But for now, these are the realities I must focus on. I’m confident that, in time, we will find our way back to each other. Our love may just be the kind that endures.
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To summarize, while my relationship with summer has become complicated due to the demands of parenting, I hold onto the hope that we can reconnect in the future, when life slows down and allows for just a little more joy and relaxation.