Commentary by Danielle Wilson
Summer break is finally here, but for whatever reason, I am struggling to find my groove. Nothing is being accomplished, yet I feel like I have no free time. When I mentioned as much to my husband, Doo, he replied, “Stop complaining. You have two months of vacation!” Oh. No. He. Did-ent.
And then I realized, Doo doesn’t get it. He thinks just because I’m not teaching every day that I’m sitting at home on my tush eating bonbons. That I spend my hours reading Nora Roberts and downing pina coladas. That I’m about to immerse myself in nine glorious weeks of pure, unadulterated fun highlighted by Netflix binges and spa visits. Oh, how I wish!
No, all I’ve done is go from being a mom who works full time to one who stays at home. And that means carpooling, cleaning and cooking, not to mention managing four teenagers who seem to think noon is an ideal time to awake. It means finally visiting the dentist and the dermatologist and the always intriguing OB/GYN because I never have time during the school year. It means calling a roofing guy to evict the little bird family that has been squatting in the wall behind my closet for three months. It means getting the Wilson six-pack whipped into shape after a long winter and spring of doing absolutely nada.
It also means squashing my desire to shave someone’s eyebrows off for not validating my anxiety and inability to settle into a routine. I have to remind myself that Doo is dealing with his own issues and that to him, a summer break would be a welcome respite. Of course, if he actually understood the job requirements of a stay-at-home mom, particularly one whose children are out of school, he might think differently. But until then, I’ll lock the razors away and just vent my troubles to you. You’re welcome!
Peace out.
