Summer is, indeed, over.
How do I know? Because today at 8:30, when the littles ran outside to join their carpool, I looked at the clock and realized I had been awake for three hours.
I've been up before six every morning this week.
I'm feeling very sorry for myself. I try to talk myself out of this. I think, "Dairy farmers have to get up earlier than this every day of their lives." Or "Your mother had someone in early morning seminary almost every year for 22 years." Or "Having a new baby is way worse."
But sadly, as always, comparison with those sad cases does not take away the pain of going from late-night-cookie-baking-and-card-games with a reasonable 6-7:30 wake up time the next day to late-night-helping-the-unnamed-student-type-his-summer-homework-essays-the-night-before-they-are-due with an unreasonable 5:40 wake up time the next day. One of these things is not like the other.
So there. I have complained. And here is a little more: I don't like this new schedule super much. I also feel bad for my exhausted monkeys. I also feel really lame because I have been a hands-off parent for a kid who needs a hands-on parent as far as planning schedules, etc.. And also, there is a lot of PRESSURE to get it together, and I, frankly, don't have it together.
Schedules are good. Learning is good. Five hours alone every day has the potential of being very good. I've hiked twice and gone to the temple once. I've also folded four or more hours of laundry. But during the laundry folding? I watched a show that I wanted to watch. I haven't watched TV in the middle of the day since I don't know when. It felt positively decadent. I have time to exercise, to study my scriptures, to organize, to go to lunch with David. It's a wild and crazy thing, this new phase I'm in.
Crazy, I tell you.