Summer…I’m doing it wrong.

When the first warm days of June hit, I made a promise to my husband and myself. This year, we’d enjoy the hell out of summer. Spend long days at the beach riding the waves, stay until dusk and have dinner on the warm sand before we drive home, shower and end the day with a cocktail on our patio, gazing at the stars.

I’d keep the kids out of camp – let them experience summer the way we used to back when we were young. No agenda, no alarm clocks, no schedules. Just…being.

We’d barbecue with friends and have happy hours every Thursday through Sunday.

Ah yes, this would be the summer of fun, relaxation, and true enjoyment of life. I even went out and bought some Tommy Bahama garb. I was going to live the dream.

Well, here we are, mid August and guess what?

I’ve been to the beach twice. That’s two times. I paid $65 for my state park ticket, so if you think about it, it cost me $32.50 for each visit to the shore. I’m losing.

The kids did not do camp, so I did fulfill that part of my promise. But what I neglected to remember was that we signed up my 12-year-old for a summer lacrosse tournament team, mandatory practices Tuesdays and Thursdays of every week, in preparation for the four weekends spent on a field, on Long Island, in New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Virginia.

Guess how many Thurs – Sun happy hours we had? Right-o. Zip. Nada. Bupkus. And on those precious nights we were actually home, not that I could get my husband off of his laptop anyway, it was hot, humid, buggy, and just not conducive to sitting on an outdoor couch swatting mosquitoes away from my drink.

Did I mention my barbecue has cobwebs on it?

What the hell happened? Where did I go wrong? Again?

When I made my seasonal resolution, I completely dismissed the fact that I work, still need to keep some semblance of order in this house (notice I didn’t say “clean”, for I am not here to feed you lies about myself, hehe), cook, write, and get these non-committed boys to practices and social engagements.

My failure is further exacerbated by my three friends who live on the water. Two of them are teachers and have absolutely nothing to do July and August. The other works two days a week. I’ll give you a glimpse of the conversations I’ve had the past two months with these people:

Them: Come on over, we’re sitting on the beach/by the pool (yes, they have both) having a beer.

Me:  Uh, it’s one o’clock on Monday. I kind of have to work.

Them:  Join us on our boat this weekend.  Plenty of room.

Me:  Can’t, gotta go to five lacrosse games, over two days, four hours away. At least I get to overpay for a room and share a bed with a leggy fourteen-year-old. But really, thanks.

You get the picture.

I learned three things about myself this year:

  1. I should have been a teacher.
  2. I’ve got to stop making these empty promises to myself.
  3. I have to find new friends.

My Tommy Bahama dresses are sitting in my closet, waiting to be worn on some sandy beach, or at a barbecue, accessorized with a pink umbrella drink.

I have two weeks to get it all in. To unwind, take advantage of this wonderful, warm-weather-themed island we call home. Can I do it? Can it be done?

Sigh. Maybe not. But I’ll sure as hell try. I took a good long look at myself in the mirror today. Staring back at me was a pale, stressed, sober woman.

I’m definitely doing it wrong.

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