Most Years at this Time

Most years at this time, my shoulders are starting to tan from days on the pool deck.
This year my shoulders are tan from the endless, countless walks around the neighborhood and the solo runs that sometimes serve as my only time alone in a day.

Most years at this time, we are preparing to take a deep breath as everything comes to an end. Ballet recitals, piano recitals, the end of baseball season, and of course school finishing up.
This year everything ended on March 16.

Most years at this time, we are looking forward to camping, or flying somewhere, or planning side-trips.
This year we are waiting with baited breath to hear whether state parks will even reopen, and hoping we get to use our months-ago-purchased Disneyland tickets sometime before 2022.

Most years at this time, the hot weather and warm cement are welcome, and the cool reprieve of the mall, or a movie theater, or a store of any kind really, become the hallmarks of the transition to summer.
This year, I have felt the cement daily on my feet, changing from cold, to wet, to warm, to too hot, all while walking circles in my yard on work phone calls just to take a break from the table.

Most years at this time, we'd be planning a rare date-night. A movie, a beautiful dinner, a stroll downtown in the warm evening air.
This year, we are doing dishes at least 5 times per day, exhausted from cooking, and desperate to be allowed to have a babysitter over and somewhere to go.

Most years at this time, the children are ramped up with the excitement about the end of school, the beginning of summer freedom, and the excitement of summer camp with their old friends.
This year, we are faced with deciding whether to continue the current arrangement (all of us, here) or allow the kids their confined (and not essential) summer camp/childcare experience, using money we may not have soon. A choice of a relief for all of our mental health versus exposure to this monster.

Most years at this time, we are spending more time at the pool than in our house.
This year, we have no pool. We have only house.

Most years at this time, I'm grateful for the slow-down and the change in tempo of life that summer brings, on all fronts.
This year, I'm lethargic from moving so slowly.
This year, I'm tired from doing nothing.
This year, I would like nothing more than to feel the extreme highs and lows of NORMAL life, even on a smaller scale.
This year, I'm craving MORE.