I can’t quite put my finger on it. Maybe it’s the relentless heat, or perhaps it’s the fact that my youngest has turned into a rambunctious toddler, always on the move. Or maybe it’s just the collective restlessness of all my kids. Whatever the cause, this summer has felt particularly challenging compared to previous years. My to-do list seems to stretch endlessly, yet I find myself indifferent to it all. Instead, I’ve been prioritizing reading over responsibilities.
Meals are prepared, lunches are organized, and the kids are shuffled off to their various activities, but I feel like I’m merely going through the motions—on autopilot. The phrase “fake it till you make it” loops in my head like a worn-out cassette, replaying over and over. After ten years of parenting, I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever get the hang of it.
Every day feels monotonous. My youngest and I take trips to the grocery store just to escape the confines of our home. He’s too young for the playground, the heat makes the park unbearable, and the beach feels like too much effort. Maybe I’m just being lazy? It’s possible. Days like today, I feel utterly stuck, and I despise it. Despite having everything I need and most of what I want, there’s still a yearning for something elusive, something extraordinary that I can’t define—and it frustrates me. This funk has nestled itself deep in my mind.
During our recent grocery run, I grab the essentials, treat my child to a complimentary cookie, and line up at the checkout. In front of me is a mother with her three kids—a mirror reflecting my own chaotic life. I can’t help but admire her lively children, especially her two-year-old clutching a bright red ice pop as if it were the best treasure on Earth. Her sons plead for candy and movies from the checkout display, and she gently nudges them away, just as I would with my boys.
I appreciate her demeanor. Our eyes meet, and we strike up a conversation. It turns out we share more than just the experience of motherhood; we’re both overwhelmed and outnumbered. She’s the first adult I’ve interacted with today and the only person in over a week who hasn’t asked anything of me. I realize how much I’ve needed this connection.
The cashier encounters an issue with her transaction—some bread that was supposed to be on sale isn’t ringing up correctly. The mother apologizes profusely for the delay. I don’t have the courage to mention my funk or how this mundane situation feels akin to sharing drinks with friends. “Take all the time you need,” I think to myself.
When I finally leave the store, the funk is still there. I’m still searching for that elusive something, that extraordinary feeling that lies just beyond my reach. Yet I do feel a bit better, and maybe that’s a good start. Perhaps extraordinary is simply anything that lifts me out of this funk. Whatever it is, it’s something beyond the daily grind of parenting—beyond dirty diapers, screen time limits, basketball practices, and the endless chore of cleaning.
Maybe it’s something just for me, a piece of joy that doesn’t need to be shared. Just like that simple conversation with a stranger while waiting in line.
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Summary
Clara Anderson reflects on her struggles with summer parenting, feeling overwhelmed and stuck despite having everything she needs. A chance encounter with another mother at the grocery store highlights the importance of connection and the search for something beyond daily responsibilities, sparking hope for a brighter outlook.