Dog Days of Summer

Every year, without fail, come the end of summer I feel maudlin.  No more unstructured days together, shared jokes, and easiness in each other’s company. 
The best part of being married to a teacher is the summer holidays, and in an extraordinary feat of luck we had three summer babies.  It doesn’t even make sense why this has turned into my favourite time of year; I’m a person who loves their own space just a little bit too much – doing a PhD was like utopia, the days stretching out when I didn’t have to speak to another human (special disposition for springer spaniels).  Getting lost in some obscurity that only I cared about.  But there’s not much that having children doesn’t change. 

I know within two days of the routine picking up I’ll be wondering how I got anything done this summer (I didn’t).   But for now it can wait.   I've always been spectacularly bad at transitions so the creeping dread should come as no surprise, but it’s been wonderful choosing how we spend each day, leaving behind the background guilt about work and homework, haircuts, uniform and housework.  Just being.  Lots of new beginnings now  – new school years, with Harry unbelievably in his last year in the village school, Katie stepping up her pre-school days (and being so unready for it!), Charlotte an old hand at the buses, wise beyond her years.  And the end of my contract and the beginning of more precarious working – possibly teaching and writing, but who knows really, it certainly won’t be paid much.  This time was gone the blink of an eye, so here are a few pictures for the road.