Summer Hours

When I left the workforce to stay home and raise The Poo, I imagined hundreds of days like today, like macaroni strung together on a piece of yarn.

Today I was showered and dressed before The Babyman woke up, and in fact both kids slept late. I, myself did not rise until nearly 7:50 a.m., sunlight falling on my sleepy face just as The Poo wandered into the room, clad in her shorty pajamas.

We cuddled for a few minutes, before heading downstairs. I made her breakfast and hopped in the shower, throwing on a light skirt and a T. The Babyman woke, and I fetched him, watching a slow smile spread over his face as he caught sight of the towel turban covering my wet hair.

He loves the towel turban.

I fed him yogurt and peaches, cleaned him up and set him down to play. We puttered and had a catch while The Poo read her books and used the computer. I left for an appointment, leaving the kids in the care of their dad. On my return, we had lunch, naps, playtime and lots and lots of hugs and kisses.

I also placed an ad for a new sitter, and hired one before the day was out.

As she left, I was struck by sudden remorse. It wasn’t the young lady, she’s perfectly lovely, the kind of caregiver who immediately agreed to a game of Candy Land, even though she only had enough time to take four turns.

No, it wasn’t the sitter.

After the last girl quit a week ago, I tore my hair out trying to arrange time to work. Of course, writing at home with both children—The Poo is out of school—is impossible, and so I didn’t pitch anything for this week.

Instead, I did chores, hosted an impromptu Memorial Day potluck and played with my children.

Let me rephrase that—I enjoyed my children.

I am often distracted by the ping of my email, by the need/desire to comb the Internet looking for story ideas. I keep tabs open for Twitter and Google Reader. I find myself wandering over to the laptop and saying, “just a minute” or “Mommy’s working” when The Poo asks me to read or play.

This week, I set all of that aside. I still managed to find time to write a little and check my feed reader, but it didn’t consume me. And I liked that. A lot.

So we  have a new sitter, because I have a new project to work on, as well as the gig that helps keep our ledgers in the black. However, I decided to cut back: she’ll come only six hours a week, instead of 12.

The Poo goes to school five days a week in the fall, 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. The Babyman is growing up before my startled eyes. In a few weeks, we’ll head East for a long-anticipated trip home, and then to Cape Cod for salt air, ice cream and sand in our shoes.

I’ll be keeping summer hours, more mindful than ever that the longest days of the year last for such a very short time, indeed.