And we’re off…

So much has changed since I last wrote. I mean, I am a blogger now. I’m not trying to brag but I have six followers and my mom is only one of them, so, to quote Drake, “I’m waaaaaay up, I feel blessed”.
In all seriousness, there has been an almost instant shift in my mood since I hit publish. That is the thing about the truth, it seems so incredibly daunting UNTIL YOU SAY IT OUT LOUD. Once you do that it is as if you take the power back. Yes, I am scared. I have never been to this place before; I don’t know what happens next or after that or after that. Some people pride themselves on having a five year plan. I typically have a thirty year plan (Is it coincidental that time period is routinely the term of a mortgage? Me thinks not.).
It’s officially vacation mode in our house, which means in addition to the kids being off of school, Husband is home for two weeks(ish) too. Ish because he still has several exceptional work responsibilities that he needs to attend (in the desired county) during his vacation time. This would normally fill me with dread – because I would be wondering if he was thinking that we live pretty far away from work…and wouldn’t it be so much easier if it was a short drive and wouldn’t it be nice to just pop in instead of building a day around it? But right now it is somehow working.
I have long since believed that our backyard was a great indication of how our life was going. If everything is trimmed up, our flowers are blooming and things look tidy and welcoming, we are probably doing good, spending time back there and taking care. When it’s all overgrown and ragged, that is usually the state of mind we are in as well. There is something that is so soothing to me about getting it all under control in that space, it seems so manageable and the reward is instant. I feel that watching branches stretch skyward is a universal signal of thanks and it’s impossible for them to do when they are twisted up into each other, heavy with leaves or seeds, littered with the sheathes of pods that have burst through long ago. So today we started clipping, weeding and generally hacking it – again, a metaphor for life and it felt great.
I’m not sure when ‘summer vacation’ turned into a competitive sport, but it did. Summer vacation in my day (and let me turn down my gramophone here for a minute, so that we can chat), no exaggeration was a few days at Nana’s apartment, walking down to the community pool, staying there for about eight hours, eating dinner and then capping off the day’s festivities with a Klondike bar and a showing of Sister Act on VHS. I got it in my head one year to take my beloved Discman so that I could get some serious exercise in walking the track around Century Village but made the catastrophic mistake of bringing one cd with me (“What’s it Gonna Be” Busta Rhymes ft. Janet Jackson THE SINGLE). That summer I managed to neither up my street cred with the tennis playing retirees, nor achieve my summer fitness goals.
However, summer vacation today is a cutthroat competition of super-moming within an inch of your life. What kind of loser hasn’t lined up multiple camps, crafts, play dates and vacations where you actually leave not only your driveway, but your state (and that is more of a qualifier, if you are a serious player you have to leave the country)? Me. Our kids are young enough to think that “getting as many books from the library as you can carry”, “swimming in the pool with all your clothes on” and “make it to midnight” – where you stay awake as long as humanly possible – qualify as summer vacation activities and I love them for that. So I am going to ride this moment of good fortune and try not to overthink about what happens next, or if I am doing enough, resting easy knowing the back yard indicates we are doing just fine and then again, there are always Klondike bars…

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