While nothing is written on the calendar, I have some plans for this summer. Here they are, in no particular order.
Survive the cicada apocalypse. For a girl who is irrationally terrified of all bugs, including the harmless ones that don’t want to eat me, the fact that any day now we’ll be overrun by gigantic, loud, noisy, ugly, creepy-crawly-flying (shudder) bugs who sleep in the ground for 17 years and then surface in horrifying numbers (600 of them to one person) freaks me out. I’m scared, people. On the other hand, they’ve been hanging out in the dirt for 17 years, patiently waiting for this brief drunken bug-orgy in the sun. 17 years is a long time to wait for a couple weeks of tree-eating, karaoke, sex and egg-laying. Maybe I’ll just not leave the house until they’re all dead and it’s time to sweep up their carcasses and have an “I got my backyard back” party.
While my drawing makes cicadas look like cute little butterflies, they are not, in fact, cute. Not even a little bit. I’d even go so far as to say they look eveeellll. Like fruu-eeets of the deveeeel. (quote from So I Married an Axe Murderer – one of the.best.movies.ever.) See, look:
Trust somebody other than myself. This is a big one. While Tucker does retain school services this summer, there are two fairly long breaks – one in June and another in August. In addition to the breaks, school hours are shortened. Which means that if I want to maintain my sanity, continue to blog, retain my part-time job and sleep occasionally, it’s time to trust somebody other than myself to watch Tucker for a few hours each week. I’m not sure how I’m going to work this out and may have to consider putting him on the bus so that I have more than a couple hours between taking him to school and picking him up (OH MY GOD, how can I put my little baby boy who is only three years old on a bus!? The worst part is that if something horrifying happened to him, like actually DOES happen in real life and not just in my head, he wouldn’t be able to tell me about it…and that’s a scary, scary, scary thing…). Any advice with this would be extremely welcome, friends.
Celebrate and mourn. Four years. Where, my friends, has the time gone? My tiny little baby is no longer tiny. He’s a kid. An almost-four-year-old kid. My still-my-baby but not-a-baby-baby anymore will turn four in July. FOUR. Four years old. Each year gains traction in an increasingly maddening race designed to prove grandmas everywhere correct when they warned us long ago that time flies by more quickly each year.
My little boy is turning four this summer. We will celebrate. We will celebrate Tucker’s amazing ability to drag us away from our many screens to act as air traffic controllers, astronauts and garbage truck drivers. We will dance and sing and eat cake. We will play in the ocean and in the sand. We will find liminal moments and cherish them forever. We will watch fireworks and a golf cart parade. We will tell him how much he’s changed our lives and that his presence in our hearts and our home has brought a level of love, joy, and wonder previously unknown.
We will celebrate him. His perfection. His laugh. His messy hands, his hugs and his stinky feet.
We will celebrate Tucker.
We will celebrate four.
We will be young.
This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday post. The sentence is “This summer I plan to…”