The past few weeks have been a bustle in our home. As we learn a new way to eat, the kids have been hanging with friends instead of hanging with us at doctor’s appointments.
I thought it was better that way, until last week my son didn’t want me to leave for my regular work time. His reaction was uncharacteristic — he has always been a bold and brave kid who would happily send me packing when I dropped him off for camps or programs.
And so I knew something was wrong. I knew we had gotten off track.
I’ve spent the past week looking at our rhythm. I’m a big fan of reinventing rhythm each season. (Not reinventing, really, but that has such a ring to it — reassessing, maybe?)
We are all craving routine again, which is only a part of the reason that I have decided to toss the bucket, so to speak.
Can we talk about the phrase “bucket list,” for a minute?
Hate it. Hate. IT.
I never saw the Morgan Freeman/Jack Nicholson movie, because I knew at least one old man would die and it would follow me for weeks. We sensitive types must protect ourselves from such things — swelling music and stories of redemption and, you know, sadness.
But let’s face it — the term “bucket list” comes from the idea of someone “kicking the bucket.”
What a morbid way to spend a summer.
No, instead we are going to gently slide into a new routine — Library on Mondays, seeing friends on Tuesdays, adventures on Wednesdays, art and cooking projects on Thursdays and errands and housework on Fridays.
I’ve decided that my plan to work on chores (or as I like to call them, “life skills”) this summer stands.
Last year we spent 3 months working on making a morning checklist a reality, and it has become automatic, ingrained for all of us — it saves us on the mornings we have to be places early. (I don’t love those mornings.)
So yes, we will be having more slow mornings at home. We’ll have fewer days when things are scripted and planned, and yet a touchstone for each day — a goal at least.
My heart kind of breaks for those mamas who try to do it all during the summer, but I understand their ambitions. I would want to do it all too if summer was all I had.
(I know. I know. Don’t compare, but the very idea breaks my heart right now to think about — sending my kids away when it feels a little like I’m just getting them back.)
But I think that’s where that drive comes from, isn’t it? The Facebook meme-inspired countdown of days until your kids are old and grown?
Ugh. More sensitive old-man bucket thoughts. Too much for my soul.
So no. There’s none of that here. We’ll continue to spend our days together no matter the season, no matter the weather.
I have spent plenty of time these past few weeks feeling overwhelmed, a little depressed, and worried I was not doing enough for my kids because I was trying to be there for my husband.
Thank goodness I have fall and winter. Thank goodness I have spring, summer and next year too, to make it all OK again.