We’re heading on an epic summer trip in a few weeks. I don’t want to be specific about dates because I’ve heard thieves like that sort of thing, and I’m sure I have plenty of thieves in my readership. (Take the TV! It sits a bit crooked, and Greg kind of wants a new one.) We’re making a loop from Chicago to Toronto to Montreal to the Berkshires and back to Chicago. This trip is either the best or worst idea ever.
This is my attempt to capture you at three-and-a-half. You are the social butterfly of the family. You love chatting up adults you meet at the park, and when your sister is at school, you routinely ask at 11 a.m. “Can we pick up Eleanor now?” I have yet to provide an answer that satisfies you.
Tomorrow is Eleanor’s last day of school, and I am sad. Most moms I know tear up at the beginning of the school year, sending a child off to kindergarten or middle school or beyond. I am more than happy to send my children back to school at the end of summer, particularly at the end of a Texas summer when we have exhausted every swimming pool, museum, and movie. Endings get to me though. This is when I feel the passage of time most acutely.