Dog days of Summer

Why is it called the “dog days” of summer?

According to my “thorough” search on the internet, they were originally named by the Romans, the hottest days of summer coincided with the rise of the star Sirius, “the Dog Star.”  They traditionally start the first week of July and end around mid-September.

Armed with that fun fact, summer marches on…

So my dog days?  I. Am. Tired.  It is HOT.  My kids have endless energy.  And even after a day that should send them to sleeping late into the morning, 6:15 am arrives and – BAM – they are raring to go.  me, not so much.

The even the fun of summer doesn’t wear them out:  playdates, camps, trip, and swimming  {I personally don’t consider swimming a “fun” one… I have 3 non-swimmer kids.  So I can’t just set them loose.  And don’t forget about coating them all with sunscreen.  Multiple times.  And then afterwards I have 3 wet kids.  Luckily after swim lessons I have 2 sort of swimmers.  Not ready for the swim test, but swimmers, as in:  they don’t sink instantly.}

And we have to be sure to get in summer reading, school workbook review time, and school supply shopping  {not that these things can’t be fun, but compared to the other list…}  

And, oh yeah, we need groceries.  And we need clean clothes.

I long for school to start.  For the freedom of routine to be back with us and to have moments in my day that are free of screaming.  Screaming with joy or in anger.  Both are loud.  Freedom to write – as it has been lacking as of late.  Freedom to read.  Wait, read a book?  Bold statement there!

But then I see the calendar dates flying by, like one from a cartoon where the days just fly off to represent the passing of time.  And I just want time to stop.  I want to hold on to each day that summer has, because I will never get this time back.  When they are little and screaming.  When they want my help.  When they think that I am really fun.  When I have to buckle them all into car seats when we make that trip to the zoo.

Finding this balance of wanting time to march forward and wanting it to stop at the same time.  That is what is wearing me out.

But I will never have control of time.  So I choose to listen to the screams and enjoy the 1000th “mommy” each day.  (well as best that I can)