You can feel it in the air.  Gosh, sometimes you can actually smell it in the air.  I can see it in the faces of my 8-year old’s teachers as they send kids off at the end of the school day.  See it in the faces of those children – mine maybe a little bit more than the others.  Yes, folks, it’s nearly summer-vacation.  Hard to believe (I’m still in denial that we’re in the month of June).

For some crazy reason, homework is still coming home (really? Yes really).  And there is a crazy energy in my boy that can only be described as his anticipation of the end of school.  I remember years ago, my girlfriend (who also has three boys) used to tell me about taking an extra deep breath at this time of year.  Extra patience.  Extra time. Extra encouragement.  Because they’re going to act out, throw tempers, and who knows what else.  True – so true.

Our boys want to be done school – so badly – to feel the sunshine on their faces and do all the summertime things boys do.  And yet – I think they are also, at a very young age, aware of the passage of time.  School is done.  Grade 3 is done (woohoo).  It is passage from one period of their lives to another.  Really?  Do they think that much?  I think they do – BUT – I don’t think they’re able to articulate it as such. 

So instead they act out.  Get cheeky.  Have a temper.  Slam a door.  Take all those feelings that they can’t quite put words to – and have it come out in an explosive act of … something.  And so, when faced with this time of year – I smile – take a deep breath.  Maybe count to 12 instead of 10.  And then wrap my arms around his little body and hold him for as long as he needs.  He lets go first. 

Sure, I could get into extra long conversations about how wonderful it is to be nearly done, and how he must be feeling like he’s going to miss his friend / class / routine / teacher (?) and how exciting it will be to have new adventures and experiences …

But – I don’t.  Just hug him.  And cut him a smidgeon big of extra slack.  Because I understand why he’s acting this way.  Even if he doesn’t.

Most every Sunday we go to church with our 3 boys.  Last Sunday, I was sitting with my 4-year old beside me, my eyes closed, reflecting on my life and my many blessings.  Yes.  A peaceful moment, indeed.  

My sweet boy leans over to me, touches my arm and quietly says:  ”Mamma.  You’re not supposed to sleep in church”.

And I smiled.