Summer Sanity

All the school-bound children were released from their academic shackles this week.

They were twice as twitchy as usual because the make-up-snow-days of school did not make the children 5 days smarter. Instead, it rendered the teachers unable to prepare one more week of studies. Let's just say there was a lot of quizzing, game-playing, assemblies and movie watching. Also, they gave the children popsicles with enough red dye #40 to last them the summer. And frankly, I approve of everything the teachers did.

But now the children are free.

It's not that we don't love our children.
It's just that life rarely offers smooth transitions.
NASA isn't here to coach moms into summertime "reentry," reminding us that our bodies have winter-atrophied and gently guiding us into swimwear and dodging the ice cream truck.

My five year old is accustomed to preschool "circle time." I'm not planning on recreating preschool. I'll probably give her a round hula hoop (it's a circle, right?) and call it good.

If you are a mom who keeps the same schedule year-round and has no transitions in life ever, then this post is not for you. You are amazing enough. You have found your zen. Off you go. Life, love and happiness to you.

But for all the moms who already feel like they're not creative enough or organized enough or loving enough and are scrubbing Pinterest for healthy snacks and casually surveying Facebook friends for swim classes (yes, that was me) all in the hopes that we won't watch television for twelve hours a day... I hold your hand.

First, I don't know the first thing about organization. It's not my strength. I observe what works for others and modify it for myself. My strength is encouragement and creative enterprises. This means that I hate for people to feel badly about themselves and I'll probably draw a happy picture to make them feel good. Which is why I blog and design. Can't help myself.

So I'm not here to give a how-to. Just some suggestions.
I'm here to say "Welcome to summer."

1. A hydrated mom is a happy mom.
Load up your pantry with happy beverages to keep your thirst quenched.
I love finding quirky teas at Trader Joes and steeping them for iced tea. I don't add sugar, but I do throw in some mint from my garden. I feel very posh when I drink it, like I'm at a fancy restaurant.
Iced coffee is amazing.
Lacroix water is fun.
Heck, try some vintage sodas from World Market. They won't particularly hydrate you, but they'll make you smile.

2. Trump your trouble. Plan your pleasure.
Give yourself and your children one thing to look forward to each day and one thing (which you dread) to address.
My daughter would rather put a splinter in her eye than do math. I plan on helping her with math this summer. I also have a closet bag full of craft ideas and adventures we can do to offset her inevitable anger with me for providing math problems during summer break.
Same goes for moms.
Purge a closet, then get a movie from the library.
Hose down the minivan, then get a Starbucks latte. Whatever floats your boat.

3. Lower expectations.
If it feels overwhelming, it probably is too complicated.
If you're not smiling anymore, your heart is gone. Find it.
Also: Naps are good.

4. Good news: Your children will remember the simplest, cheapest, grossest, weirdest activity this summer and it probably will have very little to do with you.
Example: My parents took me and my sister Noel up the east coast one summer to show us Plymouth Rock (boring) and a host of other incredible places. I do recall a lot of fascinating sights, but mostly I remember seeing the lower half of the Statue of Liberty (we were driving, a truck got in our way and I had to peer under its trailer.) I also remember a waiter who spilled a great deal of wine in a woman's lap. Also: I bought a five dollar stuffed animal. It was a white seal.

Plan on your children saying that the best part of Niagara Falls was the dead toad they saw squished in the road.

You get the point.

5. Trick other moms into being your friend.
If you're not particularly athletic, casually invite your marathon-happy neighbor to your house. Take notes on how to raise children who are not lethargic.
We're in this together, people. There are no perfect mom awards.

6. Respond to tiredness.
Hire a sitter.
Take a nap.
Drink coffee.

7. Do something good for yourself. Repeat. 
You can't give what you don't have.
Plan movie nights with friends.
Load up your library book requests of those hard to reach titles online so that when a book *finally* arrives in your cue, it feels like Christmas Day.
Shop at Trader Joes. Buy everything that is healthy and then offset that with Chocolate Covered Sea Salt Almonds.
Join a running club to offset aforementioned chocolate almonds.

Have fun, everyone. It may be a little funny starting a new season, but if you keep your head about you, you might make some fantastic memories.

This past weekend I renewed my wedding vows in a Passport Office.

It wasn't planned. I didn't wear a white dress. And to confuse matters further, only I participated in renewing our wedding vows; Dan did not.

It was a beautiful and sunny Saturday, the last weekend in May. It was the perfect kind of day to cram full of errands and rush children from store to store. (Where's the sarcasm font when I need it?) We were preparing to go to Niagara Falls and realized a bit too late that the passport office needs a little time to create and distribute passports, even if it is only for crossing the border to see our neighboring Canadians.

We rushed to Costco to get passport photos. Side note: that was the day Eve decided to wear her head in something resembling dread locks; Morgan fashioned five braids in her little sister's hair. Eve was thrilled. No time to change; She can have her Medusa picture retaken when she's ten years old.

We rushed home for a birthday party of a fantastic little boy. We laughed much, enjoyed great conversations and found our shoulders relaxing, easing into lawn chairs while noshing on pizza. Then Dan got that "we have to leave now" look on his face which I'm pretty sure I have never seen on him; I am normally the one gently pushing the backs of little people, telling them to wear clothing and get in the car. He wanted to make sure we got to the Passport Office before it closed; he was determined.

A few words about the Passport Office: It is maintained by the United States government. The walls are white. The seating in the waiting room are thinly padded folding chairs, probably from the 1980s. The room was filled with humankind and one--count them-- one person working there. The individual behind the desk was polite and precise. It became evident to me that this person would be immune to my normal modus operandi in such uptight situations (humor, of course) and that if I wanted to anger the federal government, this might be a great opportunity to do so. But I wanted to see Niagara Falls, alas.

Dan and I are sitting in the waiting room. The only indication that we are in any sort of line was the brown clip board we used to sign in, including our name and the time we arrived. The perimeter of the room is filled with people who look very bored. Even Dan wasn't cracking jokes. Even.

The children are tired and hot. I am as well. Dan has already started the self talk of how stupid he was for not starting this process earlier, how much we would have to pay to expedite them. He asks me what we should do.

I am instantly angry. "Oh, no," I'm thinking, "You're not going to blame me for this mess." I give him my "I don't know" face, eyebrows raised. Inside I'm as hot as a branding iron.

If we want comfort at this point, it is not going to come from the people in the waiting room or the Passport Office staff. One individual in the room offers that he used to work for a travel agency and begins to recite all the hoops we must jump through in order to receive our documents.

Dan and I look at each other.
I want to blame someone and he is sitting next to me.
I want to blame him.
He looks like a very good person to blame.
I want to be mad at him. But I quickly realize two things:

1. I am just as much to blame as he is. Neither of us were watching the calendar days flip as we anticipated going to New York. There are no contracts saying he was in charge of this. We just assumed that it would be easy, like getting a book of stamps. "Oh, we just need the 'local' Canadian passport," I imagined myself saying to the Passport staff, "I'm sure it won't take any time at all."

2. More importantly, I love this man. He has shown me more mercy than the entire United States. Plus, we are married. His mistakes are mine; my mistakes are his. Drawing lines in the sand isn't helpful for marriage.

I remembered our vows.

"Til death do us part."
"For richer or poorer."
"Waiting in lifeless Passport Offices."

And right there, in that moment, I picked up "our mistake" and smiled at him. "Let's take a gamble and not get the expedited service." Shoot, if we're going to go down, let's do it in a blaze of glory. Let's be royally wrong. We might not get to the other side, but at least we will be together.

We sat in the dull waiting room listening to people sighing until we heard, "Dan? Dan Dykstra?"

We crossed the threshold together.