The boys of summer

I don’t like to think of myself as a jealous person. I like to think that I’m generally really happy for other people in life and want them to enjoy their achievements. And 99 percent of the time, this is true. Your job promotion? Congratulations! New house? Awesome! You’re just having a great day? Highest of fives!

However, occasionally a wee bit of jealousy emerges. And that jealousy came out strong this Friday morning when I was getting ready to leave for work and both boys were sleeping in on their first day of summer break. I knew it was coming. Both of them have been eyeing the calendar for a month.But I didn’t realize how hard it was actually going to be heading to work to the sounds of their snores.

This is Justin’s first actual teacher’s summer. (And, yes, teachers, trust me I know you do work during the summer too. I already have the schedule of all of Justin’s professional development days on the fridge and it’s not short.) Last year, he taught a summer program and was taking three classes, so his summer was non-existent. He definitely deserves the break and I’m happy for him to get it. Does that mean that I’m not jealous of him getting it? It absolutely does not.

It quickly became apparent that something needed to happen so that their summer off didn’t turn into my summer depression. And since the $5 a year we spend on lotto tickets has yet to pay off, a simple summer chore arrangement ended up being our best bet.

As Brody recently said, “There’s always work to be done around here,” and he’s right. Spread out over a week it’s not an overwhelming amount. When it all has to be done in the 20 or so hours of weekend daylight I actually get (geez, that was depressing to type. Can we get on four day workweeks already?!?) it becomes a battle. That’s where they boys have stepped up. Thanks to them, yard mowing, vacuuming, trash hauling  and laundry should all be taken care of when I get home for the weekend, so I actually get a few hours in the pool we worked so hard to get ready for the season. In return, they’ll get to spend summer with a sane person (well mostly, I can only promise so much) and we’ll all the be better for it.

Compromise is a word most of us forget tend to forget exists, but it’s left my summer looking a lot more promising so I’m highly encouraging we all put it back into daily use. Dare I say we might all end up happier? It certainly seems possible.

 

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