The Golden Days
The wind blew crazy Sunday morning. The treetops pirouetted against the sapphire sky and the leaves skittered along the pavement and the dragonflies stayed low to the grass and tried in vain to make headway.
I went outside in my pajamas just to feel its wildness on my skin. It lashed my eyes and twisted my hair and snuck down into my soul, where it tugged like a hurricane. Faster, faster, it whispered. I bring change on my wings. You cannot stop me.
And I whispered right back, I know, alright? I know. But I have two days left.
Simmer down, wind. Simmer down.
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Summer has been golden this year - piled high with laughter and sunshine and laziness like a triple-scoop ice cream. I've fairly rolled around in it like pig in slop. We didn't go on any big trips, choosing instead to stay close to home and do ... well, a whole lot of nothing. We swam every chance we got, we spontaneously met friends at the park which turned into pizza dinners at someone's house which turned into sleepovers "please mom please mom please." The big kids spent days watching YouTube videos of other people playing and narrating Minecraft, sort of a Mystery Science Theater 3000 for the next generation. The little kids went camping in their bedrooms, which essentially meant cramming backpacks with two of every toy in the house (tiny little Noahs) and then leaving them for me to discover under beds, in closets, in bathtubs. Teyla spent hours crouched low in the yard, one finger out, patiently willing dragonflies to land on her. Kieran taught himself to swim in our pool, going from life-jacket-only in June to jumping off the diving board by himself in August, part ninja, part fish, bobbing up from sparkling water with a smile and a yell.
It was the best stuff of life.
These are the sweet days, I know it. Natalie turned 13 in July. She's almost as tall as me and her thick mane of chestnut hair stretches long down her back. She takes selfies like its her natural language (which it is, I suppose) and she texts with friends from school and when I hug her good night, I close my eyes and hug tight because just a few days ago, she was my baby, and now she's emerging woman. Connor is as wirey and bronzed as some mythical snake. He does perfect dives into the pool and when he laughs, he wrinkles his nose and throws his hair back and his sun-streaked blond hair shimmers.
This summer shone brighter than the sun.
I've told many friends that I'm in a near panic about going back to school this year. I'm not ready to return to early to bed and early to rise, I'm not ready to pack lunches every day, I'm not ready to return to schedules and traffic and deadlines. I've grown quite accustomed to waking up whenever I want and doling out breakfast between 10:00 and noon and serving chips and homemade salsa for lunch and eating dinner only when everyone is hungry. Bedtime lately has been well after dark, almost always after 10:00, if I'm honest and feeling brave enough to admit that on the Internet. I'm not ready to give up days where getting dressed means putting on a dry swim suit and we can fall asleep on chair cushions watching the clouds meander across the sky.
Mostly, I'm not ready to give up my kids. I will miss each one of them when they go back to school on Tuesday. I will miss the time we've spent together this summer, just being. I will miss them as they are in this season, this moment - tanned, laughing, bored, relaxed. I will miss them so much my soul will ache.
So simmer down wind. I know I can't control you, and I know you are a harbinger of change. But I've got two more days. Still time for one more swim and one more snuggle.
I don't intend to waste a moment of this golden summer.
Originally published August 2014.
