The lazy, hazy summer months are upon us, and I find myself longing to be home more and more. Being a work-outside-the-home mother is something I enjoy. Most of the time. Some of the time. Eh, I’m not sure anymore. Lately I’ve dealt with pangs of working-mom guilt when our kiddos ask if they can stay home from summer camp. Playing outside in the extra hours of sunlight and sleeping in late are rights of passage and the hallmarks of childhood summers. When you’re a working mother, the rules of childhood summer shift. There’s no freedom from schedules, deadlines, or commitments. Lazy days are few and far between.
It’s my son’s last summer before kindergarten – a monumental milestone in his young life. Perhaps it’s the weight of this milestone or this mother’s realization that time with him is fleeting, but I feel the need to carve out more lazy days of summer not just for him but also for me. He’s at an age where he still wants to hold my hand, snuggle in my lap, and spend endless amounts of time with Mommy. Years from now that will come to an end. Motherhood is funny in that regards. We look forward to each milestone in our children’s lives but some sneak up on us with no warning. The day he stops wanting to hold my hand is one I can’t predict so until then I’ll cherish his squishy little hand in mine as much as possible.