The transition from the school year to the summer never fails to get me. Every year, I think I’m going to accomplish more, go more places, plant more vegetables, and generally be a better parent. And every year I come up short of my expectations.

modomatic (flickr)

My regular work and exercise schedules are—how do you say?—nonexistent during the summer months.

I stay up late getting my writing done, sleep in late while the kiddos watch TV, drink coffee till noon to try to wake up, eat breakfast at 1 p.m., and gorge myself at dinnertime.

Sometimes we go to the beach, usually during the prime sunburn hours between 10 a.m. and 2 p.m. because that’s how long it takes to get myself and our donkey-load of stuff together. We stay there till we’re half-starved and exhausted, or until I feel like I’m starting to get a yeast infection from my wet bathing suit. Then we head over to my parents’ house to change and eat, lest we suffer a bout of hypoglycemia on the 15-minute car ride home.

Kim Beauchamp

We make it su casa by 7:30 or so, eat a quick dinner (usually involving something I’ve ripped out of the garden), and my husband and I watch the kids flail around on the floor, too tired to brush their teeth.

By 10:00, they’re ready for bed, and I am about to LOSE MY MIND because I really, really wanted to get back to the book I started reading 3 weeks ago.

I wake up, stiff and sweaty from Miss Indie’s body pressed up against mine, move to the big kid bed, and promise myself that tomorrow will be different.

But I know it won’t be. And I’m happy.