Happy New (school) Year!

Summer is nothing more than a three-month-long New Year’s Eve. So much pressure to have fun, fun, fun (If you just whispered “till her daddy takes the T-bird away” under your breath, you are my people. If you did not, I still love you.).  It is nearly impossible for either event to live up to expectations.  The only difference between them is I can’t just stay home and watch Netflix for an entire season, sparkly aluminum-foil tiara propped against my messy bun and a flute of sparkling cider in my hand.  (Can I?)

Don’t get me wrong. I love a sun-soaked day on the water.  Of course, I think swimming and boating and hiking and barbecues are wonderful.  Flip flops and ice cream cones and blah blah blah.  I’m not a fun hater. But what if I just want to get something done inside?  Or maybe sit on my very comfy couch for a hot minute?  I will tell you what.  I will feel like I am wasting the short summer season we are granted here in Wisconsin. 

Social media only makes it worse. Just open the darn Book of Face and you will inevitably notice that everyone else is camping or cruising the lake or toasting yet another marshmallow, and so you feel like you have to do it, too.  FOMO rears its ugly head.

Plus, you know what I love more than summer? The blissful quiet of a kid-free home.  

No, sorry, that was a lie. Really. I might be in the minority here, but I was so genuinely sad to see my kids go back to school this week.  Maybe it’s coming off the weirdness that was the last 18 months, or maybe it was my son’s transition to middle school.  But, for the first time since my oldest was a kindergartener, I could have shed a tear over the first day of school.

I even held my 11-year-old son’s hand on the way to drop off.  At first, I thought he was a little nervous about starting 6th grade and had slipped his hand into mine for a little motherly reassurance. But then I realized I was the one who was nervous, and I was the one who had grabbed his hand across the center console, and I was the one who was grasping it for dear life like a crazy person.  Oops. 

Saying goodbye to the kiddos is really the only drawback to fall, though. I live for crisp mornings that justify sweatshirts. I love fires in the fireplace.  I love chili. And football (Even though I still don’t fully understand it. We don’t have to understand something to love it. Just ask my husband.).  Sharpened pencils and fresh starts. New goals and routines. Apple picking and open windows. Crock pots and crunchy leaves. Pumpkins, pumpkins everywhere.  Fall foliage. Plaid shirts. Snuggling. And not feeling guilty for missing out.  FOMO turns to JOMO!

I didn’t know what JOMO was until recently, when I ran across the term down some internet rabbit hole. JOMO = the joy of missing out.  JOMO aligns with being intentional with one’s time, saying no to the things you don’t want to do, and enjoying the present moment. This acronym spoke to me far more than any other combination of 4 letters ever has; finding it was a major aha moment. 

And, somehow, autumn allows more space for JOMO. 

I think maybe I’m just not a summer person. There are all different types of folks in this world, after all.  There are summer people and there are fall people.  There are even winter people – mostly downhill skiers and masochists.  There are not, however, spring people, at least not in Wisconsin.  There is only mud in spring in Wisconsin.

I do know that, every year as summer loosens its sticky grip and slips into glorious fall, I breathe a quiet sigh of relief as I shrug into my flannel and head to Panera for my first taste of turkey chili for the year. 

Fall may not be as glamorous as summer, but it’s far more comfy.  (Hmm. In that case, my preference for fall may say something more about me. There may indeed be something deeper to unpack there about my personality, but I’m going to cut myself some slack, since I’m still smarting from sending my offspring back to school this week.) 

Happy fall, ya’ll.