Each May, I struggle with a weighty sort of depression when my sweet, sweet boy...my firstborn, the leader of my ragtag band of minion/children...gets ready to leave for the summer. No matter how excited he gets to visit his father and the other side of his family, it's a fight to make my face match his in excitement. And yes, many, many times, I'm faking it.
Summer passes so slowly when he's gone, and to compound the matter, he hates the phone. (Pretty sure it's a genetic thing because I hate it, too). But as summer winds down and the month of August marches on, things start to change. He wants to talk more. He's got the countdown marked on his calendar ("three more days, Mom! Three more, days!")
This summer was especially hard for us all. Two days after he left for the summer from Alaska, the rest of the family sold everything we owned and relocated to Houston. We got a new apartment, a few pieces of new furniture, and brand new routines without him. And no matter how hard his little brother tries to explain how utterly cool the new pool is, he can't do it justice for his older brother.
So we all sit in anticipation of his Monday morning arrival. Just one short week later, the little man begins a new third grade adventure in a new school. His grandparents mailed him a GIGANTIC box of school supplies. My folks have been mailing him school clothes, new shoes, and a bright orange backpack he picked out.
It's that time again. Life's ready for all new adventures...all we need is the Boy Wonder.
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