August is the 4:00 pm of summer.
It is The Longest Month of the year. It just. doesn't. end. It's hot. It's sunny. When it's not sunny, it's raining. I'm sweaty. The kids are sweaty. They're also filthy. My hair is a frizzy mess. It's just an all-around unattractive and gross time of year. Even with little little kids, the whole holy-crap-it's-summer-let's-do-all-the-things-OUTSIDE-ness of it all has completely and utterly worn off. We have played in the backyard for the 843rd day in a row and I am OVER pushing you on the swing for approximately ALL THE MINUTES and watching you run around in the heat while I die sitting on a blanket with no breeze and minimal shade and remind you to take drinks of water for the rest of them. It's just too hot. I'm sick of coming up with things to cook (or not cook) (crackers, cheese, and fruit are essentially all of our lunches and snacks around here) (sometimes dinners, too), tired of remembering to put sunscreen on all of the kids, and completely OVER the bugs. I know that God's plan is perfect and all, but I really think there could have been a better option than creepy, crawly bugs. June and July are okay, but like, c'mon August. We're ready for something else here. Let's switch it up a little. We've done the summer thing, alright? Enough already.
Monkey crawl around the deck, kids. It's 9:47 am and I have run out of ideas to keep you occupied today.
(Rant within a rant: while winter is a pain from all the jackets-boots-coats-hats and the whole HAVING TO KEEP TRACK OF THEM ALL situation, I'm not convinced that summer is all that much better. Find your shoes. What do you mean you left them outside somewhere again? Why did you take them off outside? By the sandbox? In the sandbox? Literally IN the sand? I just don't know. Then there is the sunscreen-ing. All the arms, cheeks, noses, backs-of-necks, and legs. On a good day, that is. Sunglasses? Hats? Which you might wear for all of two minutes before they are also lost to the abyss just like your shoes? And don't even get me started on the days that we go all out with swimsuits and swim diapers and do you really need a towel? etc.
GAAAAHHHHHHHHHH.)
You can tell this is June because I still cared about things like swimsuits that matched and wearing swim diapers and also probably "sunscreen". August is more like, eh, swim diaper? Maybe. Are your clothes dirty? You should probably just wear them in the water so they get clean anyway. Here, let's towel you off with this dish towel that I grabbed off the top of the washer from the pile of things-that-have-yet-to-be-washed. You'll be fine.
September and the rest of fall feel so. far. away. Like they will never, ever come. We're going to be stuck in this infinite loop of heat and sweat and sun and let's play in the backyard AGAIN I GUESS for-freaking-ever.
The time from September-December is my absolute favorite part of the year. Fall and leaves and cool breezes and holiday after holiday after holiday. Even the first snow is something to look forward to (while it's still magical, before it's the third month in a row of NOTHING BUT WHITE and hey, Florida sounds like a pretty good place to move to now). But August has to be lived through first. It's excruciating. Some sort of purgatory to get to the glory of holidays and decorations and cool weather. Not the frigid cold of February but like the 50s-60s chill that lets you be comfortably outside wearing jeans and a sweater. Yes, that. And all of the fall clothes are put into the stores by about the beginning of June, so I'm stuck looking at comfy flannels and cozy rust orange sweaters and adorable scarves and cute-yet-practical boots that are pointless to think about, much less buy, because they can't be worn for MOOOOOONNTTHHHSSS.
I have no encouragement for the month of August. No energy. It's gone. All gone. The heat zapped it all because it was 75 degrees outside before 8:00 am. We crank the AC, drink all the iced coffee and water that we can handle, make a few more batches of ice cream (okay, so it's not all bad), run up the water bill by filling the pool about 86 more times, watch a bit more TV than we should on the days that we really need to beat the heat, and dream of cooler days - and all the hot cider, sweaters, and apple orchards - in store for us ahead.