Summer means a great deal to someone in my profession. I’m a teacher, and even though I teach adults instead of teenagers or little kids, I still find myself counting the days left in the spring semester. I usually teach a class or two during the early part of the summer as well, just to try out new things that I want to do in the fall semester–those summer sessions are always my guinea pigs. Does that assignment work if I do it this way instead? What happens if I swap this out for that? Those summer students are always more open to these little trials of mine, it seems. They are, after all, crash coursing through what normally takes a solid 16 weeks to cover in a mere 6 weeks, so they start off running, continue to sprint while I add hurdles and dexterity challenges, and at the end, they stumble bleary-eyed yet triumphant across that finish line.
But then there is the the down time. Time that is suddenly, gloriously free of all restrictions and expectations. Time to read a book on the couch All. Day. Long. To binge watch those tv shows late into the night and even the next morning because, seriously, it’s not like I have to get up for anything. My daughter is old enough now to play quietly if mommy decides to sleep late–as long as I roll out of bed long enough to supply breakfast and snack and lunch, she’s fine. Sometimes, she snuggles back into bed with me, tablet in hand. Yes, I let my kid play with her tablet while I sleep in. It happens. It happens more when it’s summertime and I decide to let it go for a few magical weeks. There are days when I don’t know what day of the week it actually is–and I don’t care. I have nowhere to be and nothing to do until August 10th, when my daughter goes back to school, and August 18th, when I go back to campus for meetings.
Until then, though…glorious, wonderful freedom.
And before I even start to feel guilty for all of this free time, I remind myself of those days during the semester, days when I teach five hours and then come home with a stack of papers and grade until midnight or 1am while my eyes cross and my pen bleeds everywhere. It works out in the long run because of this time right now.
And I know it will end. And that’s good. Because endless days and nights of nothing would be tiring.
And I have actually been doing things besides reading cheesy books and watching cheesy television. I’ve been writing. Look-I’m writing now!
I know when I’m in the dog days of November, grading that mountain of papers, I will remember this time and sigh, and use that memory to go on, to grade just one more before I finally go to sleep.
But until then, I will relish each moment. Summer is the best.