What did I do on MY Summer Vacation?

What summer vacation? 
Ask my kids, or John, or Sue exactly how much summer vacation I get - go ahead, ask them.  Aren't teachers supposed to get this vast amount of time where we just laze around sipping sangria?  Something that we don't need to do because, as so much of my extended family reminds me of regularly, we don't really do much the rest of the year except get weekends and holidays off.  Not to mention snow days. 

AARRGGHHH - do I sound frustrated? I don't mean to sound frustrated, but I've got so many demands on my time, and so little time for my demands.  The summer of my divorce was the most glorious summer in my life - I actually had time to do nothing - with no guilt of "I should be . . ." lingering around.  It was lovely - lovely, lovely, lovely.

I think I need to be done for the day.

Who Am I?

I am a mother
I am a lover
I am a friend
I am a woman

I am a teacher
I am a reader
I am a writer

I am laughter
I am a smile
I am a tear

I am full of art
I am full of anxeity
I am full of hope

I am an opimist
I am a naysayer

CRWP - live deep and suck out all the marrow of life.

So, why am I here? Why, for the third year in a row have I relinquished my rights to a proper summer vacation - a much needed vacation - to sit inside all day and write and learn and write and learn?  Well, because how could I not?  I am passionate about my work, and how could I pass up any opportunity to become better at what I do? Especially an opportunity as significant as this one? And to then be able to replicate the experience summer after summer?  What else could I do.

But then, I hear from the people I love, the people who love me.  And they support me, and respect my dedication to my career, but are feeling neglected.  During the school year, I am careful to balance work and love - careful to remember what is most important and ensure, through my actions, that they know.  But summer is supposed to be a time for them.  A time to make up for all the time I can't give them throughout the school year, and the writing project gets in the way of that. 

So?

Celebrate Good Times

I am a birthday peacock.  Take me to one of those restaurants where the waitstaff comes out and sings some cheesy birthday song - better yet, take me to several of them - and I will get up on the table and bow, blowing kisses to my adoring fans.  Buy me a big silly hat that proclaims my advancing age in foot tall glitter, and I'll wear it as if I were the pope.  Pin a pair of "kiss me, it's my birthday" flashing lips to my chest, and I'll accept smooches from drunken strangers (so long as they're directed to the cheek or forehead  anyway).  Presents are nice, appreciated, even sometimes amazing, but all I really want is your attention.

FYI the big day is August 11:)