Today is the first day of July.
I’ve been balancing between stressed and delighted for the last couple of weeks. The ex told me ages ago that he planned to take the kid to his parents house (about 3 hours away) to spend the month of July.
When he first told me, I was in “business mode,” which meant that my mind immediately evaluated the value of having both the boys out of the house for an entire month. That’s 4 less legs running around making messes. Thirty-one days of alone time with the house to make amends for the neglect is has borne for the last several years.
But as the month of July has steadily gotten closer, I focused more on the fact that my son would be gone for an entire month. An eternity, as my mind sees it. And even though I know having him out of the house is really a help, I can’t help but mourn the loss of time.
And because I feel it so keenly, it drives me to focus on the task at hand with more rigor. As if I’m working to earn the last few days of fun summertime when he returns in August.
Because, let’s face it, I am.
As I see it, this is the last big push in prepping the house for an appraisal. I’ve been here for six months, and it’s time to start seeing me not being here.
I’ve been rolling the boulder uphill and there’s just a little further to go before I make it to the crest. When I’m there, I’ll summon up the last bit of strength that comes deep within my being to heave that damn boulder up and over, so that it can start rolling down the other side. And when that happens, things will start moving quickly.
Summer will fade to fall.
Vacation will end; a new school year will begin.
Packing and moving will be on the agenda.
And settling into my professional stride will be my main focus.