It is officially Fall, Gentle Reader. I know this because I have begun to officially fall apart. Autumn is my perfect storm.
School is in full force. My days are filled with reading out loud, grading papers, and teaching math concepts. On Monday mornings I have started having teacher conferences with each of my kids, lining up their academic schedules for the week, discussing any difficulties they are having, going over what they’ve been reading recreationally. It is a great idea and has been instrumental in keeping all of us on track, but it does mean that on Mondays I don’t comb my hair or change out of my pajamas until lunchtime. (So don’t stop by on Mondays, okay?)
This past week the fall swimming season began and each of my children are on a different section of the team. This means I spend most of my evenings driving one kid to one practice and then dropping off another kid to a different practice, sometimes in a different facility.
It also means that if we want to eat a meal together as a family (which is a high priority for me) I need to have dinner on the table by four thirty. FOUR THIRTY. I mean, they’re barely serving the dinner menu at Denny’s at four thirty. We have officially become weirdos in the name of family togetherness and swim team devotion.
Because the weather has been lovely, all the tomatoes in the entire state of Indiana have chosen this moment in time to ripen. (I’m pretty sure they had a conference or a caucus of some sort to plan it.) I have a huge stockpot of homemade tomato soup in my fridge which I need to can at some point, and my counters are still full of lovely red orbs waiting for me to do something with them.
There are still raspberries that we need to pick, in order to have enough frozen fruit to get through the winter. There are carrots I need to harvest before they become gigantic. And applesauce season in right around the corner. I completely understand why school didn’t start until winter back in Little House on the Prairie days.
I know that by the time October gets here, I’ll have my rhythm down, my routine mastered. I know this. I have a Fall fall apart every September. (Check the archives if you don’t believe me.)
So this year, I have tried to just tread water, not sweating the small stuff while keeping my head above the surface. I mean, who cares if my kids ate chips and salsa twice last week for dinner, at the uncivilized hour of four thirty? At least we ate chips and salsa together as a family, right? And if I freeze that tomato soup for a few weeks until I have time to can it, who cares. It will eventually get done. Someday.
Someday I will have my crap together. Until then? I shall strive to fall apart gracefully, thank you very much.
(How’s Fall going for you, Gentle Reader? If you would like to share a similar story of autumnal distress in the comments, feel free. Solidarity friends.)