My summer has consisted of a lot of running, a lot of eating and a lot of “getting things done”. Basically, it’s been a mixed bag.
I don’t really mind running errands. I enjoy being out and about, driving around the city, on the move. But, after a couple of months of this, I realized that while I’ve taken care of a lot of necessary things – new passports (which required photos, documentation and four trips to the State Department), multiple home projects (which required too many trips to the hardware store, several visits from the plumber, the air conditioner repairman, the roofer and a landscaper), and family commitments (multiple birthdays, two anniversaries, weekend visits in other cities and general good-time get togethers), I don’t feel like I’ve actually accomplished much.
I thought this summer would allow me to run with friends I’ve missed dearly, finish a couple of writing projects and catch up on my sleep. Instead, I feel like I’ve hardly seen anyone, only written about one page, and have dark circles under my eyes. Sigh. I think I need a vacation from my vacation.
In a couple of weeks we will leave for London to take Grant to school. I’m dreading leaving my baby on the other side of the Atlantic even though he can hardly contain his excitement at being on his own (read: being away from his bossy mother). I’m consoling myself with the prospect of getting to spend three weeks without a single leaking ceiling, busted sprinkler, broken garage door, new driver’s license renewal, or insurance company shift (could that get more complicated?) that has to be taken care of IMMEDIATELY OR THE WORLD WILL END! I plan to revel in the luxury of maid service, subway service (or, as the call it in the UK, the tube), and room service.
I won’t promise that I will actually write anything because I hope to be too busy wandering around castles, running along the Thames, eating scones (while snobbily pronouncing them “skons”), and generally embarrassing my son so that he will really miss me, but I will try. I told y’all awhile back that I want you to read my posts as if I have a British accent. Well, once I get to London, if I do post anything, it will be so much better if you channel Nigella Lawson while you read it. Trust me. I find that I am a much better writer when my audience pretends like I’m British.
Until then, I will continue to run in the soggy Texas heat, swatting away the mosquitoes by day and scratching the bites until they are bloody scabs by night, go to the grocery store four times a week because THERE IS NEVER ENOUGH FOOD IN THE HOUSE for two eighteen year old boys, and try to finish up all the work that is piled up on my desk. I think I’ve saved our house from falling down for one more year, but I haven’t done much to ensure any good racing in the fall or make me feel like I’ve accomplished much that can count as “work”.
Oh well. Everything always gets done, doesn’t it? And while I’m very ready for a vacation, I’m not ready to for Grant to leave home. Please know, I’m weeping with a British accent over here.