I challenge anyone out there to dare find fault with the simple perfection of a Friday evening (or whatever day is your work-week equivalent.)  Work is done, and you have, without question, of course, changed lives and made the world better (because you are an absolute rock star at your job) — and there are two days ahead of you for which no explanation is owed or expected, to or from anyone!

Two entire days!

Sometimes I spend these weekends grading essays, hosting a boisterous sleepover, or at a basketball tournament or swim meet.  Sometimes I turn the kitchen into a place Rachael Ray would envy, filling our freezer full of home cooked pasta dishes that could get my family through a winter, should I get stuck somewhere in the thick of a Maine snowstorm.

I have also been known to lose entire weekends to What Not To Wear marathons.  Do not judge.

So, you can imagine how I felt about the day that school got out for the summer.  It looked a little bit like this:

My teacher friends will understand when I say it takes a few June days, post-students, to… how shall I say it?  Disentangle.  A few mornings in which you don’t want to, but you wake up early anyway, already mind-marking the parts of the lessons that need highlighting for which students…until that second when you realize:  my work there is done.

I recommend not screaming in delight at this moment, which happens to still be a school day for the other four members of your family. They seem to not like this.  You might receive hate stares from your 8th grader or a noogie from your 5th.  Your 2nd grader will probably look at you sleepily and mumble what?  school?  again? and drift back off to sleep.

Alas.  There are summery things to do.  Things like this:

My camera stayed home on strawberry picking day because it was threatening rain, which bums me out, because had I had it, you could have met the man I picked next to.  His name was Burton.  On that day, June 26th, he had been married 42 years.  In the morning his wife had said to him “Burton, get your ass out this house and pick some damn berries for your wife!”

Out. This. House.  I immediately loved a woman I’d never laid eyes on.

And because I had recently ended my school year, and my mind wasn’t yet untangled, I thought this infinitely romantic.  Because all things are wonderful when you have nowhere to be, and not a lot to do, and all the time in the world in which to do it.

That’s how I felt at the end of June – with the entire summer out in front of me like a nirvana of unending weekend.  And it’s how I feel now with about 3 weeks to go.  But first, it began.

Stay tuned.

I found an old journal on my bookshelf today.  Do you know what this means?  It means two things, actually.  One:  it isn’t with the 87 other journals I have held onto since I was 12.  Seriously, there are 87 of them.  And two: it survived the tumultuous packing-away I did when I left for Korea, (and I took at least a hundred books to Goodwill) and now it’s baaaack.  It’s the journal that won’t die!

Not that I want it to die, exactly, I just wondered why it was rogue, all down in the playroom like that, ‘stead of up on the 3rd floor in a tomb otherwise known as a plastic tote, where all the other journals hang.

The answer to the question I know you’re asking?  Is 1998.  It was written in 1998.  The year I got married.  It chronicles two important things.  One:  being a new-ish teacher.  I quote: I’m afraid to tell anyone that I loathe teaching, that I am exhausted day in and day out and all the way through the weekend, too.  Is this normal when you are 25 years old?

And two:  planning a wedding. I quote again:  This is all just quite silly when really the only important thing is Guy and me together.  The marriage part, not the wedding part.  Nonsense is the…well, all the rest of it.

At its essence, this green fake suede 4×7 inch spiral bound notebook is a time machine.  A time machine in which I was willing to scream at the top of my lungs things that I didn’t want anyone to know.  Which is interesting, isn’t it, given the fact that I am still a teacher and I went right ahead and had a lovely wedding.

Which begs the question:  this not really listening to myself.  Has this been going on since 1998?

The answer to this question, since you’re asking, is no.

It’s been going on far, far longer than that.  Far longer than that, indeed.

There’s no pretty little ribbon to tie around that thought, now is there?

Do you ever feel like your whole life is just a big highlight reel?  Kind of like, no, I didn’t actually see the game, but I caught the highlights on CNN!?

Welcome to the whirling dervish that is my life.

Disclaimer:  I have no idea in what order any of this happened, and it doesn’t really matter, except I wish I didn’t feel like I have early onset dementia every time I try to think of something.  Last night, for example, I told a friend that our kids were going to the same baseball camp during the same week!  Only neither of my boys is even attending baseball camp this summer.  Wrong week?  No.  Wrong kid?  No.  Wrong sport.  And I was drinking water.  I was!  You can ask Joan. 

1.  Natalie fell off her bike and ended up in the E.R.  I watched in awe as she convinced the doctor to glue her chin together, rather than use stitches.  She’s something else. (Side note:  I forgot how sticky blood is.  But, I also remembered why I didn’t go into medicine!)

2.  Luke, while making a dynamic play at first base, was hit by the ball and bent the nail on the middle of his throwing hand backwards.  Having done this once before, he did not have an E.R. visit.  Instead, we wrapped that sucker up and he was back on the field in 4 days.  Still.  Ew.

3.  Garrett has what medical professionals call “Little League Arm.”  This renders him unable to pitch for either of the baseball teams he plays for.  (Please excuse the sentence that ends in a preposition.  I am not myself.)

4. I read a whole book over one rainy, cold weekend.  I know I did, even though I can hardly remember what it was about. (Look there’s another one of them there sentences!  Clearly, mind is mush.)  Heirs.  Billions of dollars.  A missionary.  A drunk.  A plane crash.  Must have been Grisham.

5.  Natalie discovered Calvin and Hobbes.  Calvin and HOBBES, people.  Such a clever, clever girl.

6.  Luke hit himself a grand slam homerun!  Over the fence and out of the park, that is.  Swimming pools.  Movie stars.  For him, it was striking oil.

7.  I got my continuing contract as an employee at CRMS. Got a cupcake for teacher appreciation day, too.  Take that, CEO of Big Bank America.  A CUP. CAKE.

8.  Garrett began his career with Babe Ruth.  It’s not that monumental except damned if he doesn’t look like a full grown man out there.  Which reminds me.  We also bought him his first suit for his first fancy dance.  With a girl he really seems to care about.  (This seems like a great place to leave a preposition.  I am verklempt.)

9.  Guy will be teaching back in Belfast.  Can I get a halleluiah?

10.  Planted my first vegetables:  spinach, lettuce, endive and carrots.  They’re so wee, I’m afraid raindrops are going to kill them.  I know that’s not right; that sometimes, the very thing that seems to pummel you is the thing that brings you sustenance, allowing you to grow toward the sun.

Again, welcome to my life.