I’ve been working on a long post about all the ways in which we have been enjoying the summer—a million festivals, weekend trips, pools and fountains and music (oh my!), but I’ve had a hard time finishing it. Part of it is because I’ve never ever been so busy just experiencing a summer, trying to fit everything in and taking every single opportunity to get out and do something. Part of it is because work is sucking every last bit of energy out of me as we countdown to my last day in this job. And part of it, today anyway, is because I can’t stop thinking of Clementine and her new vociferous objections to being left at daycare.

In many ways, I feel like I’ve regressed to my first months back to work, when I noted every minute Clementine wasn’t in my care, took note of every small thing that bothered me about the daycare and Julie. I felt guilty at every turn and wondered how anyone manages to feel good about working and leaving his or her child in the care of someone else. Of course that all evened out eventually, and over the last school year I did nothing but beam when I thought of how great daycare was for all of us—I got to go to work everyday (mixed blessing, but it was time on my own, for me) and she got the benefit of even more loving adults in her life, not to mention a group of kids to hang with. And now when we talk about going to Julie’s, Clementine begs to “Stay in my house,” and when I drop her off she clings to me and screams “I need my mama!”

There’s a part of me that knows this is kind of normal kid stuff—along the same lines as wanting one parent when the other has her. But I hate the idea of not listening to her, of not believing that something has changed. A woman I work with reminds me that kids are manipulative and know how to “push your buttons to get anything their hearts desire,” but I’ve always wanted to reject that to some degree. Do I think kids should get everything they want? Of course not—just because Clementine says she needs ice cream doesn’t mean I want to honor her request. But I feel like the rules change a bit when she’s expressing something as complicated as this: a desire not to be somewhere, not to go to Julie’s. And it’s not that I think something is wrong or untoward there. Maybe she’s not getting something she needs. Hell, I can be so neurotic. But this is what’s taking up my time.

Also, cleaning five years’ worth of crap off my desk, resisting the urge to shop on the Internet and trying to look busy. It’s a wonder I can blog at all.