Dear June,
Oh, how I used to adore you. As your arrival approached, I would eagerly count down the days like a kid waiting for a special treat. I still look forward to your warm embrace; you’re a radiant force that breathes life into everything around you. You liberate my toes, spirit, and body from the confines of winter layers that have started to feel like a straitjacket.
For many, you signify the start of short-shorts and lazy beach weekends. You inspire weddings, street fairs, and dining under the stars. But as the years go by, I find myself grappling with the complexities of our relationship—primarily because of my kids.
Now, you zoom past in a rush, leaving me feeling somewhat used and overwhelmed. Your days are filled with bittersweet moments, celebrating my children’s milestones as they grow too quickly for my liking. Each event—the end-of-year performances, last games, classroom parties, stepping-up ceremonies, and graduations—makes me a hot mess, reminding me of how few of these moments we have left.
The hardest part is that I strive to be fully present, yet I constantly feel like I’m only half-committed. With two to three must-attend events each day for weeks on end, it’s impossible to keep up without longing for old coping mechanisms I haven’t touched in years. And just when I think I can catch my breath, you hit me with another half day or random day off, creating logistical chaos for every working parent.
To add to the stress, you bring this unrelenting pressure to make plans and engage with the world before your buddy, July, sweeps in and signals a different kind of summer pace. You bombard me with a whirlwind of barbecues and networking events, preying on my desire to be a well-rounded individual who lives for herself, not just her kids. And believe me, I feel too old to pull off short-shorts without looking like I’m trying a bit too hard.
I know I’ve grown distant, and it’s not entirely your fault. Things are simply moving too fast for me. I need time to process my feelings and some space to manage my expectations. Once the kids fly the nest, I might consider rekindling our carefree romance instead of obsessing about their whereabouts. Just think: leisurely afternoons spent with a magazine or a book on a beach lounge, my toes buried in the sand, rather than chasing after a gaggle of tweens smelling of sports or dodging water balloons from mischievous third-graders. These are the things that occupy my mind right now, but I’m confident that we’ll find our way back to one another. Our bond may just be the kind that withstands the test of time.
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In summary, June, our relationship has evolved as parenthood has changed my perspective on time and priorities. I hope to reconnect with you when the kids are grown, but for now, I cherish the bittersweet moments of their growth.
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