A Mild Panic

I woke up this morning in a mild panic.

School ends next week. It is, shall we say, the beginning of the end.

George stopped napping the day Gladys’ preschool ended. That had been my last respite – George napped while Gladys was at school 1½ hours per week, three times a week. He refused to nap in her presence, and who could blame him? Her ability to entertain him goes unmatched by anything the toy companies could hope to invent.

Gladys is home. George no longer naps.

It was the beginning of the end.

And so, I woke up this morning in a mild panic.

Soon enough, Andrew will hop off of his bus for summer break. Except for two weeks of half-day camp for Andrew, my three children will be my uninterrupted chaperones for nearly three months. For five weeks of that time (plus several weekends) we will live out of a 26-foot camper.

I have heard “That which does not kill you makes you strong.”

Few mothers would argue the justification for my panic. They may wonder why it was merely mild.

I considered the two organizations that should demand my attention this summer. I should set some dates, complete some follow-up, call for volunteers, and send some e-mails.

I contemplated the new camper: the projects to complete, the packing to do, the pre-departure housecleaning and mail stoppage and camp forms and teacher gifts and bills to pay.

I was in a mild panic. I called a girlfriend.

“Read your blog. Read it from last summer.”

Read my own blog?

I did. I read this. Then I remembered why I write, why I stay at home, and why my oldest only goes to a few camps that are most important to him.

“Mo-om!!! Gladys has George under a laundry basket and is sitting on the laundry basket and won’t get off!”

And, as much as it tried, the panic didn’t quite come back.