Boy have the weekdays been dragging lately, and the peekaboo now-it’s-hot-now-you-need-a-fleece cloud cover hasn’t helped. I sort of feel like I’ve run out of energy for Creative Daytime Activities, so mostly the kids are tear-assing around in the front yard riding bikes and flinging rocks (“STOP THROWING ROCKS!”) while I collapse into a lawn chair and peer at them over my laptop, which slowly pan-roasts my thighs to a crisp. This is not quite how I pictured the last gasp of our summer playing out—in fact, I had some very specific ideas about daily nature hikes and all sorts of teachable-moment-laden field trips—but . . . ah, I don’t know. They like the front yard.

There’s some nature out there and stuff. Yesterday they saw a bug.

Those of you with kids, what do you guys do during the summer? Are you doing super awesome memorable shit every single day, or are some days filled with cartoons and front-yard bugs?

All I can really think about lately—other than writing deadlines, always with the writing deadlines—is how starting September 6th, Riley’s going to be gone. Every weekday, all day, except for Wednesdays which are half days for some weird reason but whatever, point being: OFF INTO THE WORLD HE GOES.

I feel like everything is going to change. I don’t know how, I don’t know if these will be good changes or bad changes or a mix or what, I just feel convinced that we’re standing in the edge of a new milestone, one that’s bigger than first teeth and first steps and first words combined.

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It sounds ridiculous, I know, but the truth is I don’t want him to go. If I could hold this September date at bay for a million years, I would. But of course I can’t, nor should I. He’s excited. He’s going to have a wonderful time. It’s going to be great.

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I hope, I hope.

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