My mom leaves for home in six days, the kids start school six days after that, and another week-plus-six-days later I start school myself.

So, here we are at the end of summer, and I can’t help feeling that it never really got started. The weather has been fine enough, but never so warm that it felt like real summer. We’ve been to the beach only three times, and I bet I could count on my two hands the number of days the kids have worn shorts instead of long pants. In fact, rather than being in circulation, the summer clothes are still in my bedroom in a storage box from which I dole them out all too infrequently.

All things considered, however, I’m pleased enough with any weather that doesn’t results in layers of the cold, white stuff. I wouldn’t mind one bit if real winter stayed just as far away as real summer has done this year.