The Best of Times? — The Wee Wanderer

Years ago, in the Before Times, I overheard a co-worker telling another teacher that she was worried about Summer Break, because it was so hard to enjoy her kids. It was a June day, less than a month before school let out, and I couldn’t understand how anyone could view Summer Vacation as anything other than pure bliss. Back then, Summer meant sleeping in and staying up late, going for long runs and hikes, reading a dozen books, etc. The world was my freaking oyster. This idyllic version of Vacation was, apparently, not quite the summer my co-worker was looking forward to. My skepticism was obvious, and the other teacher – also a mom – replied tiredly, "Only another mother would understand.”

And now, 6 years into the After Times, I do understand. The other night, for instance -- Day 8 of Summer Break -- through a combination of outright lies (“It’s 7 o’clock!”) and strategic body placement (Levi can read both analog and digital clocks), I managed to bump bedtime up by 45 minutes. I just couldn’t do it any longer. 45 minutes of freedom too many.

Gone is the concept of “Vacation” that I used to treasure. Every parent reading this knows exactly what I’m talking about. And this is why, a few days into every Summer Vacation, I find myself feeling nostalgic about work. The commute, adult conversation, general sense of purpose – everything other than actual work – has a rosy glow in my memory.

Which is incredibly ironic, given the fact that during the school year, everyone’s ultimate goal – students and teachers alike, September through June – is to simply make it from one Break to the next. We educators cherish Vacation more than any other members of the workforce. And once the countdown to summer begins, the excitement at school is palpable. Every one of us is desperate to ensure a smooth evacuation. During the month of June, I will pounce on a functioning stapler with the intensity of a jackal if it gets me one step closer to being done. Fellow teachers have described themselves at the end of the school year as “limping toward the finish” and “staggering across home plate.” By Day 180, I am toast, you guys.

And then, like a speeding car stopping short, I am propelled by inertia for the first days of Summer with a 6-year-old: We tie-dye. We construct our own sun dial. We maniacally harvest our strawberries. We commit to the Library Read-a-Thon. We make jam.

But, after about a week, things start to slow down. The yawning white space on the calendar, which looked so enticing a mere 7 days earlier, begins to fill me with genuine panic. It occurs to me that there are only so many strawberry smoothies you can make. I chastise Spring Sarah: Why didn’t you sign Levi up for more camps? Did you really think you could sustain this kind of fun for 11 whole weeks? And a sun dial?? That was your main summer project? It takes exactly one day to make! What were you thinking?!? Today’s plan was to make smoothies and spend the day at the playground (The whole day?!? That was the plan?!?). I suddenly feel the urge to check my work e-mail. Maybe something’s come up. Something I have to do today. A missing attendance report, a student question, a contract I have to sign, anything.

On a whim, I grab one of Levi’s optional summer homework packets, and toss it to him, hoping it’ll buy me 20 minutes of screen time, and. . .

(Let us pause here for a moment and consider things from Levi’s point of view. An internal dialogue regarding the transition from school to Summer Break would likely sound something like this: The thing I’ll remember most about the end of my first school year is the endless supply of Thank-You Notes I was forced to make. This, to me, is torture, and I know my mom knows. I’m 6. I’m really not that thankful. The last week of school was fun, but weird. We had Spirit Week, Field Day, and Kindergarten Graduation. Somehow, I was under the impression that Summer Vacation was 11 days, but it turns out it’s 11 weeks. That was a shocker. Grownups talk about Break like it’s the most exciting thing, but I just want to keep going to school. I’m just now getting used to the concept of bells; why switch it up at this point? My mom doesn’t know my new friends’ numbers; I asked if she could look up “Mathew’s Mom” on Facebook, but she said it didn’t work like that. I miss walking to school in the morning. I miss recess. I miss math. I can’t wait for first grade.)

. . . I was not prepared for the delight on Levi’s face when he saw the summer homework packets. Clearly, the simple assignment – color coding shapes – was familiar and fun. He completed page after page, giving me a good 30 minutes to pull myself together, before we made our requisite smoothies and left for the park. I guess I’m not the only one feeling nostalgic about the grindstone.

Fast-forward a couple weeks, and things are looking up. I hired a babysitter. Half-day camp starts tomorrow. I am reminded how much fun long summer playdates can be (especially if you know the right moms). I can walk past the wall calendar without waxing sentimental about making copies and writing discipline referrals.

I could get used to this. And I’m sure that the moment I do, it’ll be time to go back to school. But I’ll worry about that in 43 days (not that I’m counting).