What Will You Learn This Summer?

Hi reader friends,

I don’t know if you can tell, but the children are out of school (at least mine are), and that means time is irrelevant. There is no time. What is time with children and no school?

I was trying to write at the library with my son, but he’s bored and hasn’t yet realized that boredom is the gateway to creativity or whatever, so I read something I’ve written already. It was about a very difficult time I had with him a few years ago. There were lots of those because I think, sometimes, the brighter we shine, the harder we are to raise. My son is very shiny.

I’m seeing now that there is no escaping difficult times. There is no constant happiness. I’m not trying to be depressing. I’m actually trying to be hopeful. It isn’t supposed to be rainbows all the time. I read this everywhere, like inspirational blogs, and TikToks and podcasts, but I still don’t believe it, not until I live it. Not until I really learn that one thing causes another.

And summer is an excellent teacher.

If you’re feeling frustrated, let me be the first to tell you today, that you are not alone in your thoughts. EVERYDAY IS FRUSTRATING. It can also be great. I’m starting to think it’s all about endurance, this life. Enduring the boredom to get to the good stuff. Enduring the anger to get to the answers. Enduring the uncomfortable to get to the next thing. Our ability to unlock some of the better things in life is sometimes linked to how much we can endure before it. At least that’s how it’s been for me.

Enjoy this short essay and your happy, sad, weird, angry, boring, wonderful day. Because it will be all of those things and that’s cool.

PS - He found his way at the library. Thank you for asking.

Mom, I Hate You

We sat on his bed, my son and I, reading Amelia Bedelia. He laughed at the parts he understood. “Why would someone give someone else a shower?!” Amelia was planning an elaborate party for a lady getting married and she couldn’t understand why they called it a shower. I like the way he laughs when he understands something. The absurdity of it all. He squeezed my left arm as we read, cuddled on my side. As I turned a page he gently said, “Mom?” I put the book down, waiting for him to continue. “Mom, I hate you.”

It’s so interesting what happens before a reaction. It’s as if time stops and it’s just mine to control. Which way should this go? Screaming? Laughing? Crying? The avenues are mine for the taking. I can hear my daughter's static from the monitor, the hum of the air purifier, and finally, the silence my son has created in the room. This should sting more, I thought. My heart should be pounding. I know this will hurt later. I close the book and climb off his bed. I tuck the book back into the cloth of his children’s book shelf near the window. I turn to my son and kiss his forehead. “I love you, even if you hate me.” I shut the light off and leave. 

Later, waiting for my heart to collapse, I sit down and try to read. Of course I can’t. My son has been taking out his frustrations on me for a couple of days now. It’s surprising to me how quickly I build a shield around myself, even for my son. I will never stop loving him, but I have to keep moving. The hard part is going to be in the morning, when he resets and everything will seem fine. When I have to cut up his waffles and pick out his pants from the dryer and pack his snacks and answer his questions that have nothing to do with me. All these things when in the back of my head I will remember exactly how he said “Mom, I hate you.”

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Talk soon,

Angela