Summer in The City

I've figured out what part of my problem is. (And thank you in advance to those who leave helpful suggestions about what the rest of my problems might be).

I'm not working this summer. That's my problem.

I didn't work two summers ago after quitting The Job That Must Not Be Named, but I was doing a show so I was really busy and otherwise preoccupied. I worked last summer, so this is the first summer in ages that I've been home full-time. That by itself wouldn't be enough to throw me.

The other issue is that my child is twelve and really fun to play with--we go for walks with the pooch, go shopping, water the garden, bake chocolate-chip cookies (thank you, Aunt Sarah!), play board games, etc. I'm totally reliving my middle school years when my sister and I used to do all the same things. No wonder I feel out of touch with my productive, goal-oriented, adult self. You try painting your toenails and listening to High School Musical on the stereo with a tweener for company and see if you can maintain the necessary focus to discuss federal habeus corpus for detainees in Gitmo.

I even feel a little whiny; "I'm boooorrrred," slips into my conversation now and then. I get restless but don't know what to do with myself. Chores are harder and harder to get to. What's another day without clean socks? It's summer. I'll wear sandals or go barefoot.

Now that I've diagnosed the problem, I've decided that I don't have to find a remedy. I can re-live my tween years but without the accompanying crush on Matt Sweeney or acne to cope with. On the other hand, I do have wrinkles and a crepey neck so that might balance out the lack of teen skin issues. Other than that, why fight it?

I can embrace this stay-at-home mom stuff, boredom and all, because of the priceless time I get to spend with my daughter who, at this moment, still likes me, still chooses to spend time with me, and reaches for my hand when we go for a walk. No paycheck can compete with that.