Labor Day, Languid and Bittersweet

Well, here we are at the death-knell of summer.  And while we parents may be half-relieved (or more than half) to anticipate the coming of cooler weather, structure and some sort of more purpose-driven schedule as kids work to master whatever’s on their developmental plate, be it rolling over, standing, walking, counting, multiplication tables, algebra or geometry… we must keep in mind that our kids may be feeling that age-old melancholy that falls like an invisible curtain of gloom over the Peter Pan within.

Some of us parents are more plugged into our feelings than others, and if we’re not comfortable with simply acknowledging the sadness our kids see in the piles of waiting books and the subtly lengthening shadows of the afternoon, then we may be in for skirmishes and quarrels.  Kids act out when they can’t hold their feelings, and we parents must catch the overflow, while refraining from discharging our own melancholy, fear and anxiety back onto our kids.

In other words, Labor Day is fraught, like a watered down, but still potentially disheartening, New Years Eve.  It’s branded in our minds as hot-dogs and pie, and often it is that, but it’s also an ending; and a transition… and we know that transitions are hard! 

As we, at least theoretically, honor those who labor (and perhaps those who would like to labor, if only they could find a job to labor at), not to mention the moms who have recently labored or are soon to do so, it seems a good day to take a moment and return to our intention set at the start of summer (see post from June 21st:  http://tiny.cc/SeKBL), or else to set an intention now:  something to place our parenting, our suffering, our loving, attaching and losing in the service of.  This will set our fall on the right track and bring us more firmly into the present moment.

So, if intermittent feelings of melancholy make you want to cry for no apparent reason as the cosmic vet tells us that the dog days of summer will now have to be put to sleep, know that you are not alone.  Try to be kind, to yourself and others, while knowing that the Shadow will make us feel like breaking things and shouting, at least every now and again.  It’s in the shared recognition of melancholy that I, for one, tend to find solace.

In this way, perhaps, we may make our way toward good feelings that last… and try to do it in the service of all our collective children…

Okay, full disclosure:  I’m trying to finish this post and one of my kids wanted me to drop what I’m doing and take him somewhere.  I said, “no” a bit too quickly and he said, “Okay, angry person.”  So, please trust, we’re all in this together.  I’m going to take my guilt and my mea culpa into the car right now and try for a redo…

Okay, now I’m back.  We had fun, and I’m feeling less guilty, just ready for a nap.

Namaste, Bruce