Today is the last day of summer break. My kids will be back at school tomorrow.
Like every year, my feelings about the new school year are mixed. On the one hand, I’m happy that school is starting and that we’ll return to our routines. I’ll get a few hours of peace and quiet. I won’t have to constantly listen to “I’m bored” or “I’m hungry.” I won’t be dragged into playing yet another game of whatever they’re interested in right in the middle of my writing.
But on the other hand, I’ll have to wake up early. No more sleeping in. I’ll have to get everything ready for school, drive them there, and pick them up in the afternoon. No more midday goofiness. No more nonsense for me to witness—or see through. And no more excuses not to do my writing.
Ah, well. My feelings are definitely getting all tangled up.
My son complains that this summer break was boring. In some ways, it’s true. Apart from a trip to New York, we didn’t do much. Yet it was still a busy and emotionally exhausting break. My mother-in-law was hospitalized after a stroke, and we have been closely following the slow recovery she is making. Being far away from the rest of the family makes times like these even harder.
Physically, it was a slow summer. Mentally, though, it was filled with stress and a lingering sense of helplessness.
As I review the summer, I realize that “uneventful” doesn’t necessarily mean easy. Sometimes, a season can appear quiet on the outside while carrying far too much on the inside.
I’m hoping the rest of 2026 will be gentler.
This piece is written in response to the three hundred and thirteenth edition of Fiction Monday inspired by the word prompt – REVIEW hosted by yours truly. Do join in if you have a tale to tell.
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