SquarePeg Books

Summer Break is here, which means that my little monkeys are at home. All the time.

We’re not that far in and it’s already driving me nuts.

This is the last summer for the super-cheap local Day-Camp held by the community center, starting in June and running through July. Next summer, they will be too old for the program and I’ll have to find other ways to amuse them (*muffled sobbing* 6 hours a day, 5 days a week, $125 a week, with the a-la-carte option of which weeks you do and don’t want to participate in for 8 weeks is a little spendy, but it beats 3 days a week, 3 hours a day, for $450/week session.)

Sara wanted to do all 8 weeks. Spendy, but fine. She gets social interaction, she isn’t bored, I don’t have to keep her little booty entertained.

Daniel, on the other hand, only saw 4 weeks he was interested in. Cheaper, but now I feel like I have to find ways to keep him entertained for at least an hour or two a day so his butt doesn’t meld to the couch and he gets at least some naturally produced vitamin D.

This means less time for me and my writing. Which, quite honestly, was probably going to end up on the lesser end of the scale anyway because a number of maintenance items are outdoor items which really should be done when the sun is still up.

What is it about seasonal changes and holidays that we make plans to do better?

Cleaning the house is one of the break goals. The are others to address some of the maintenance items, acquiring a doggo or two, doing yard work, keeping the boy child’s brain from melting into useless goo, etc. Of course, writing is on that list, as well as starting up a work-out routine again (which has also not occurred).

Thus far, I’ve done some maintenance, some cleaning.

But not much else.

It feels like a struggle to just get out of bed. And if I want to be productive?

Not even caffeine is making that easier.

My husband thinks I need time to recharge.

I can’t say that I don’t, but there’s this thing where a true recharge would involve me frantically cleaning the house and slamming out as many maintenance items as I can and then renting a hotel/resort/spa/retreat/a-cave-in-the-deep-woods-with-a-firepit-and-a-nearby-stream-will-be-fine for a week or two with NO children, NO husband, NO house. Just me.

Then I’ll probably cry when it’s time to return to the real world.

Anyhoo, it does make one wonder, what is it about seasonal changes that make us think “Ah! Now I’ll get things done!”?

To be fair, digging out a ton of earth or two and setting field stone to make a retaining wall in the back yard is not exactly a winter project, but certainly I could’ve finished sewing the patio shade over the year by just spending 30 minutes a night on it.

And why does the “Now I’ll crush all my writing goals!” always get said around seasonal changes, when past experience proves otherwise? Is there something in the air that deludes us into thinking “I’ll do better, but I’ll start with the seasonal change”? Are seasonal delusions a thing, kinda like seasonal allergies?