I have no idea what this blog post is going to look like. I have about an hour and 15 minutes before I have to pick the kids up at school and get them to their music lessons, then rush home to write the fifth-grade class chair welcome letter and a few stories about flu shots and Respiratory Syncytial Virus.
I can say I already miss summer, with its later mornings that don't include arguing with my 10-year-old about how he can’t go to school on a special dress-up day clad in shorts, sweat socks and dress shoes, or looking the other way when my 7-year-old clips a tie onto his short-sleeved striped polo shirt that is hiding under his David Byrne-sized suit jacket.
Wednesdays may break me.
My Google calendar, so sparse in August, is now a pastel-hued collage of overlapping events. Ezra's soccer practices intersect with Maxon's parkour. I moved the Wednesday 4 p.m. music lessons to Thursday afternoons at 3:30 so it wouldn't conflict with Wednesday Hebrew, which I thought would be from 4 p.m. to 5 p.m. However, midweek Hebrew is now scheduled at 5 p.m., which backs up against a 6 p.m. soccer practice and 6:30 p.m. parkour. I haven't even thought about how to make that one work.
I miss weekends where I didn't have to make choices between fall baseball and Hebrew school – like this weekend. Ezra will miss the first day of Hebrew school for his game. I figured I would be stuffed by a huge helping of Jewish guilt over this, but as it is, the guilt I feel is negligible. It's more like a small side salad of guilt. In fact, I feel guilty that I don't feel more guilt.
Since there was an injustice argument about Ezra missing Hebrew school when Maxon had to go, we gave him the choice of going to the baseball game or Hebrew school. Maxon chose Hebrew school, which should give you an idea of how much he hates being a baseball brother.
I forgot about the backpack-doesn't-belong-in-front-of-the-front-door fights. I forgot how to add and subtract mixed fractions, which I embarrassingly had to Google. I forgot how bad my kids are at looking for lost items.
I forgot which family members I was with last Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. I forgot to invite one of Ezra's friends to his birthday party. I forgot the exterminator was scheduled. I forgot to email the Hebrew school and plead my case for changing the time of midweek Hebrew. I forgot that my husband had a work dinner last night and I had to find a way to drive from Aramingo Avenue to Columbus Square in no minutes.
September, I was so delightfully doped by August. I forgot how wicked you are.