Making commitments

Commit.

I try. I try and try. I want to commit. I want to follow through. And just when I find myself committing to going somewhere or doing something, well, it seems that "something" happens. Not a better offer, mind you, but a meltdown. Or a child falls asleep. Or the weather. Or a parent naps. [Please note: In my 20s, napping never really cut it for an excuse for not attending a party, mind you. In my 40s, well, it's no longer an excuse, it can be a badge of honor with some fellow parents.]

But in the past week it seems that we have committed to several events, only to find non-alternatives to going. Some days it feels as if we are letting the kids down by not taking them. (I've tried to remember youthful trips my parents may have committed to take my siblings on and any disappointments I may have carried into adulthood and I can't think of any.) Maybe our kids will be okay, buffered from any disappointments by moving along to play with blocks or reading a book or chasing each other around the house.

Admittedly, last weekend, I was the reason my husband and I couldn't go to a fundraiser in Landfall for the Airlie Gardens' 3,000 square foot Butterfly House. I'm not ashamed to admit that I fell asleep (…I'm just incredibly sheepish around the nice person who invited us).

Friday we were supposed to bring the kids to a beach party after the final (half-) day of school. But it was hot. Unbearably hot. And the party started at 12:30…and it was hot. When we arrived home, it seemed justified that we didn't go. A flashing heat advisory taunted me on my computer. Friday it was in the mid-90s. (Today in the high-90s…I could go on about where did our gentle weather go, but I won't.)

Friday night we agreed to meet people at the swimming pool. The idea of sipping cool drinks while submersing our feet in the chlorinated water seemed radically appealing. We rallied. But then the evening drifted aimlessly. At one point my husband noted that the pool closed in less than an hour and the kids desperately needed sleep.

No swimming trip. No beach visit.

And Saturday night, we meant to head to Carolina Beach. The baby was oddly cranky. The children immersed themselves in library books. And I shifted my piles of work from one side of the table to the other.

Are these the lazy days of summer and is it okay to float through these days and nights (before the stream of summer visitors)? Or, worse, do we just need to admit that *we* are lazy and shouldn't try to make any plans?