It's Mid-July, and I am Panicking

If parenting has taught me anything it's that the moments - the precious ones, the exhausting ones, the terrifying ones - are all fleeting. COVID reinforced the fleeting nature of time and made me realize that I want to be here for all the moments. I want to prioritize my family and my child over the busy. So here I am, in the most flexible summer of my adult life, being my own boss. My last day with the City of Lansing was two weeks ago, and I'd be lying if I said I missed it. I miss the team, but I regularly talk to the colleagues with whom I'm closest. I'm working on several fun and interesting projects, and my boss (yours truly) is pretty amazing. 

So why, you may ask, am I panicking in mid-July? We have 18 years with our children before they are adults. I am right in the middle of the 7th summer. After 15 months of togetherness with my son, he started summer camp three days a week in mid-June.  While the quiet of the house has allowed me to accomplish a lot of work, it's also been...quiet. I find myself oscillating between feeling relieved that I can get a lot of work done and sad that my son isn't here.  

I mostly manage to keep my work load to the first part of the week so we can have a few "Will and Mom Adventure Days" each week (or, as my son mispronounces it, "e-venture"). He has golf lessons every week. We go swimming and exploring. We get ice cream on nearly every adventure day, and I am savoring these days.

Pensive before his first golf lesson

All smiles at lunch on a weekend getaway

"Mom lift me up here so I can meditate!" Hiking in West Virginia.

Last week, on a rainy day, we drove an hour to the Grand Rapids Children's Museum. Will falls asleep in any moving vehicle nearly instantly. As he slept in the backseat I stole a glance at his sweet face in the mirror. Without warning I began to cry, thinking about how sweet and small he still is. I know that sweet little face won't always be sleeping in my backseat. This moment, one of the precious ones, is one I will file in my memory and in my heart.

At the Grand Rapids Children's Museum

My fellow West Virginian Brad Paisley has a song 'Last Time for Everything'. I've been thinking about that song a lot this summer and the concept that there is indeed a last time for each action. My son is too big to be carried. I know this. But I will carry him every time he asks to be picked up until I cannot anymore. At some point it will be the last time. 

When Will wants me to cuddle him to sleep or hold my hand I will say yes 100 percent of the time. One of these days it will be the last time. I want to remember each of these moments. I think that's why this summer I feel so panicky. The year (+) of togetherness has ended. I will never get that much time with my child again. He'll continue to get older and sassier and more independent. And one day he won't need me like he does now. But until that day I'll hold him, I'll cuddle him, I'll jump off the diving board, I'll wrestle. 

Bowling on a rainy Sunday.

Checking out the Ohio Capitol Building

In this, the 7th summer of my son's childhood, I want to create the best memories. I want him to think back on his childhood and remember that his mom was there - playing, snuggling, loving him more than she ever thought it possible to love another human. I have such magical memories of my childhood summers, and they always seemed to fly by. There's only 7 weeks until school starts, and this time my son will go in person for the first time. He'll let go of my hand and walk into school, and take my heart with him. Until then, "e-venture" awaits.