When a crispness creeps into the air in August, I feel a low panic. Back to school is coming, and try as I might I am not in a celebratory mood. Every year in September, classrooms fill up as families emerge from the “summer slowdown.” With the indoor crowds come coughs, sneezes, and tummy bugs at an absolutely punishing pace. The holiday breaks are approaching as well, all of which need to be covered with back-up childcare, despite none of the flexibility and relaxation of summer. During the winter school breaks, of which there are maybe one per month until the thaw, there are no day camps on offer for panicked working parents. For those of us who call “the holidays” something more like Q4, we’re in the sprint to the finish, ready to work like we haven’t worked all year. We will not be awarded a secret cache of PTO in October even if we use all of it in September to get through a family bout of hand, foot, and mouth. To add insult to injury, it’ll probably be spirit week at school when we return (if school isn’t closed, it’s always spirit week).
In September, all the editors at The Pom decided to write about a book, but at this time of year I struggle to remember a single book I’ve ever read. All I can think about as my mind races at 4 a.m. is that sick season is coming, and how am I supposed to find time to read. Right now, Yellowface by R. F. Kuang is on my bedside table, but I’ve mostly given up on it already. At the end of August, my toddlers came down with croup, and we were off to the races before I’d even had a chance to label their school supplies.