
Every year for many years now, my August experience has been the same.
I start the summer joyfully (as do whichever of my kids are being homeschooled at the time, even the poor older guinea pigs I subjected to minor “summer math and reading” in early years—sorry, kids). I’m full of hope, relaxed expectation, and plans for catching up on all the things I had no time for during the school year. I even have a list of what I intend to accomplish in all of the “free time” I’m going to have.
During June and July, I continue my work as a freelance writer and editor, but with more flexibility than during the rest of the year. I begin my work day at 8:00, 9:00, whenever I want … and end when I feel like ending. Afternoons are spent with appointments, catching up on paperwork, visiting friends, fun family activities, trying new recipes, or writing for this blog. Sometimes I throw caution to the wind and flip my days, doing the fun stuff first and working later. But every day is full, and in a good way.
And then August arrives. Even now, when I’m down to just one high schooler, I start feeling little twitches of anxiety during the last week of July. Then the calendar rolls over and I’m officially facing the Final Weeks of Summer Vacation.
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