It’s September first.
The teacher in me is raising my fist in solidarity for all of my former co-workers who are wearing black in mourning of this week. I feel your pain.
The, well, I guess the me in me is thrilled all the way down to my toes and on this beautiful, sunny morning, is so glad I had some rest so I can enjoy it.
The girl who finds a way to spill blueberries out of the no-spill cups, the one who runs and dives face first into the waves at the ocean only for this paranoid Mama to watch in horror as her little body’s thrown onto the beach, covered in water and sand, and giggles the entire time, the sleepless wonder, slept over Grandma and Pop’s last night so that we could actually sleep sometime this week. Yes, we’re back, after a week of almost normal sleep the week prior, it was a sleepless week for the Shannons. Of the worst kind. Child was up from 11-4, four days this week. Sigh.
But let’s not talk about that today. For once in my life I’d like to not talk about my sleep patterns or wonder when they will ever possibly get better.
I want to talk about Autumn and take this time to run the risk of you hating me, because, you see, I hate the summer.
I hate to sweat. I hate the beach. I hate sand everywhere. I even hate tropical fruit mixed drinks. I know. I’m such a buzz kill.
The only place I do not hate the summer is far north, where there are mountains and streams and cool lakes and it goes down to 50 every night, regardless of the season. That’s my kinda place.
But, for now at least, we don’t live there. We live here. In sweaty, crowded, urbanizing suburban Jersey, and this girl, is so glad this season is over.
I love Mums. And apple picking. And cool breezes. And soups and stews and pies smelling up my kitchen. Autumn’s more inspired. The colors, the produce’s last stand, the sweaters and boots, the spicy coffee drinks. The ability to eat outside with a light jacket, with a glass of wine. I love autumn and Labor Day marks the beginning of my favorite season.
So, this morning, while we’re still kid-less, we’re going to go to breakfast at a cute little french cafe, stroll around the farmer’s market with a cafe au lait, and dream up a fall menu that will take us into the depths of winter. Oh, butternut squash soup with vanilla bean and pears and beef and guiness pie, here we come. I might even wear a sweater to celebrate.