The Grass Is Always Busier

Over the weekend, spring finally pulled itself out of the mud and launched into full fairy-tale mode: fluffy, baby blue skies, birds doing Broadway in flash mobs, second and third and fourth courses of the most delectable sunshine, and a lavish swirl of allergens dancing on the breeze. I wasn’t sure I would survive my own respiratory system last night. However, I woke up this morning without a hint of inner-skull itch, feeling like a new person and ready to dust out every golden corner of the day.

The downside to clear-headedness, though, is that it tends to help one remember things… specifically, that summer break is quickly approaching. And I have nary a thing planned to do with the girls. We have zero popsicles stockpiled in the freezer. Not a single date is marked on the calendar for a zoo trip. We put back the hula hoops at the store yesterday, unwilling to pay 10 euro for rings of cardboard plastered in glitter tape. No one is signed up for summer camp.

It occurred to me as I blinked away the cobwebs this morning that I am dangerously close to a nomination for So-Boring-She-Might-As-Well-Be-Negligent Mother Of The Year. Admittedly, a lot of this is circumstantial. Our freezer is not big enough to stockpile popsicles, the local zoo costs as much as our weekly grocery budget (and rumor has it that most of its animals have died and been replaced with concrete replicas), and our summer travel plans keep us from making any major schedule commitments. Also, we are a one-car family, which means our excursions are generally limited to how far short legs can walk.

It’s not as if the girls will be suffering. We have a huge balcony and a backyard for them to play in, and we’ll see their friends at the neighborhood park each day. Plus, Saturdays devoted to exploring and a tremendous trans-Europe camping trip in July promise plenty of adventure. However, I can’t seem to side-step guilt when reading other moms’ plans for daily swimming, soccer camps, field trips, play dates, book clubs, and craft days. Other moms seem eager to dive into activity-packed months centered around their children, whereas I just feel… reluctant.

This is the natural outcome of the comparison game, I know. I was excited about our low-key summer until I measured it against other families’ and let our assets—child-friendly neighborhood, travel opportunities, my ability to be at home with the girls, their colorful imaginations—be overpowered by the deficits I suddenly see. If only we had more money or lived in a more metropolitan city or had a housekeeper, if only I could allocate every moment of my days to the girls without losing myself in the process, if only our community had a pool, if only the girls were a little older, if only, if only, if only… The If Onlies are neither healthy nor helpful, but my perspective seems determined to gaze at the greenness of everyone else’s grass while ignoring our own lush lawn.

So here’s my game plan:
1) Comb travel sites, talk to the neighbors, and compile a list of activities that will be kind to both our wallets and our naptimes.
2) Remind myself that my daughters really sincerely enjoy drawing pictures, playing kitchen, and running through the house in tutus screaming their happy lungs out.
3) Do the best I can with what I have, remembering to count love among our assets.
4) Politely tell the If Onlies to stuff it.