It’s summertime! I couldn’t wait for it to get here, couldn’t wait for the last day of school. I had glorious dreams of an idyllic summer—lazing with my kids, watching my garden burst forth, seeing my flowers in full bloom.
Let’s check the scorecard, shall we?
The fantasy: This year my garden will be on schedule, a neat and orderly weed-free zone. The reality: I put my garden in three weeks late, couldn’t find my row markers so I eyeballed the lines, and have had to till four times already.
The fantasy: This will be the year my kids learn to sleep in. The reality: My kids have made it as late as 8 a.m. exactly…wait for it…once.
The fantasy: Our pop-up pool will a breeze to set up and filled with warm sparkling water. The reality: Our pool is so crooked it is half the size it should be and it takes roughly 30 seconds for my legs to go numb when I’m in it.
The fantasy: My flowers will be a riot of color this year. The reality: My flowers will be a riot of color this year…only in the little starter pots that come from the greenhouse ‘cause I haven’t actually managed to get them in the ground.
The fantasy: My husband and I will hang out on the porch in the colorful rattan chairs that I lovingly fixed and painted. The reality: The only thing sitting in the unraveling peeling rattan chairs are the cats.
The fantasy: This summer my kids and I will spend hours in the throes of creativity. The reality: The only crafts my kids have done are the ones I give them to keep them busy so that I can make supper.
The fantasy: This summer I will learn to balance my writing with the rest of my life. The reality: I can write a kick-butt chapter if I ignore the world and everything in it for 6 hours straight.
The fantasy: I wouldn’t trade this summer for the world. The reality: I wouldn’t trade this summer for the world.