(Not) Ready

“I made my lunch!” Will says, as I walk into the kitchen.

You what? I examine the perfectly made peanut butter and banana sandwich. “Want me to cut it in half?” I ask. “Sure,” he says, throwing me a mom bone.

“Just one!” John says, as I start snapping pictures before they take off on first day adventures.

Just one? Just one! He didn’t care how many I took last year...

I usually relish in this time of year. In throwing on the obligatory sweater as the first cool breeze blows. In keeping careful watch for dots of crimson on the trees. And hints of holiday in the magazines and flyers gracing our mailbox. 

But not this year. I want more summer. 

I’m not complaining exactly. We had a good, no great, summer. 

We hosted a family reunion, visited family and friends at lakes and the ocean, welcomed new little cousins...and even our very own dog Daisy.

But for some reason, I’m just not ready. 

For long, lingering, sunny days to turn short, cool, reflective.

For swirling schedules filled with scholarly expectations and practices and rehearsals and...

I watch the boys take off down the walkway, then cross the road (after looking twice just like I taught them). By themselves. Never looking back. 

And I realize it doesn’t matter that I’m not ready. They are.