There’s well over a month left of summer, but for those of us with small kids, specifically in Homewood, Alabama, summer ends this week. Though it’s still steamy hot outside, the minute all our kids begin the trek to the little red brick building, the lazy, carefree days of summer are over. (That cacophony you hear is a combination of parental sobbing and celebration.)
I’ve been both dreading and anticipating this week for a while now. It’s been a mostly glorious summer, full of late bedtimes, sleeping in (by the kids), reading, puzzles, lots of beach and pool time, hanging out with friends, and porch time. In the last few weeks, however, things have started to unravel a bit. My oldest daughter’s inquiries as to “What are we doing tomorrow? What are we doing after lunch? What’s for dinner? What will we do after that?” have begun to wear away at my patience. My youngest daughter spent the first month and a half of summer contentedly traipsing through the backyard in search of bugs and treasures, but it seems our yard’s treasure trove has been emptied. And where the two sisters played so beautifully together for the majority of the summer, they’re now bickering over things so ridiculous, when I ask them about it a few minutes later, they can’t even remember why they’re mad, just that they ARE. I think the return to routine and structure will be good for sisterhood, for imagination, for patience, for world peace.
Another thing–this summer, I *haven’t been writing* and it’s been such a welcome break. I told everyone (and by everyone, I mainly mean my agent and my editor) that after turning in the GLORY ROAD manuscript back in February, I didn’t plan to start writing anything new until the kids go back to school in August. I needed the mental break, time for creative juices to flow again, and I wanted time to read for pleasure. Which I’ve done. A lot. But now that school is starting (in two days!!), it means I’m staring the blank notebook in the face. (I actually have a new blank notebook. I bought it about a month ago in anticipation of THIS week, when the kids start back and my time turns back to brainstorming and writing. It’s purple, and cheap, and this time has 3 subjects instead of just 1. More room to write and scratch out, write and scratch out.)
I admit it, I’m a little scared. I worry, “What if I can’t do it again? What if another story just won’t come?” I worried about this after THE HIDEAWAY and again after writing HURRICANE SEASON and both times, another story came. But here I am worrying about it again. I do have some ideas. I have several pages in another ratty old notebook where I’ve jotted down ideas and thoughts about various story possibilities. Yes, one is rising to the surface a little more than the others. But I’ve purposely held off on doing any serious plotting or outlining until after August 8, because I know once I get going, I’ll want to really get going, and I can’t do that until I have a chunk of time that’s mine all mine. And I haven’t had that since May 24th.
So it is with fear and trembling, and celebration and rejoicing, and yes, plain old sadness that my babies are getting older, that we enter into this important week. We meet our new teachers today, then tomorrow we are having a lemonade stand with some friends, then school starts Wednesday. Wednesday morning, I will take pictures of the girls holding their handmade “First Day of…” signs, hold back my tears as I walk them to their new classrooms and kiss their faces, then go across the street and have a mimosa with other moms who’ve just done the same thing. Then I’ll probably spend that first day wandering around my empty house wondering what to do with myself.
Maybe Thursday I’ll buckle down and start that book.