And All The Angels Sang "Summer!"

I have gone from pining for the season of spring to relishing the beginning of summer.  That's what today is.  I don't care what the calendar says.  The last day of school always means the start of summer. 

My body, mind, and spirit are limp with the relief of knowing there are fun and carefree days and nights ahead.  No more homework.  No more books.  No more hearing about the Social Studies teacher with a bad case of what I like to call "Little Man Syndrome" who has been bullying my son.  The five-foot-five inch teacher, age 35, who has been bullying my 5-foot-8 inch son, age 14 (as of yesterday). 

Now, just sunshine and flowers and swims at the lake. Fresh peaches, blueberries, squash and corn.  Long days and starry nights. 

Of course, I'd like to have some kind of pattern and schedule so that we won't dissolve into chaos and grumpiness.  Our days will have one hour of TV and more hours for books and imagination.  We will rectify a failure of the public school system by teaching my son to write in cursive.  Didn't you know cursive is, like, SO old-fashioned and passe'?  Kids never have to read it because of computers and texts and stuff, they say.  With the genius of that logic I foresee a day when letters and documents written in cursive will be viewed like ancient hieroglyphics and scholars will have to undergo rigorous, intense learning to be able to decipher them.

I'm going to read a lot.  And keep the house clean.  And cook.  Meet friends at the coffee shop.  Host sleepovers. Plan picnics and day trips.  Try art journaling and maybe crochet.  Find time to journal or write every day.  Walk at the gym.  Practice my Praise Moves, the Christian alternative to yoga.  Settle into a warm, safe, and sleepy place of halcyon days and restful, dream-filled nights.

And blog more often.