Back to School Burnout: What To Do When You’re Over Summer Before School Even Starts
I stood in the kitchen at 9:17 this morning, staring at a puddle of cherry popsicle melted into the tile counter, while my 7-year-old and 4-year-old screamed at each other over who got to hold the TV remote that neither of them was actually using. My coffee had gone cold 20 minutes earlier, and the big first-day-of-school magnet I picked up at the grocery store glares at me from the fridge: 10 days out. I leaned against the cabinet and thought, I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
Summer started soft this year. I pinned a whole board of low-key activities: hiking the local trail, a backyard reading fort, homemade popsicles, a weekly trip to the library. We checked off most of the list the first month, and we were all happy. The kids stayed up late, I skipped the dishes more nights than not, and no one had to be anywhere at 7:45am. It was good.
Somewhere around the third week of July, the tide turned. My 7-year-old got a cold that lingered for 10 days, then gave it to my 4-year-old, who gave it back to me. The band-aid drawer is empty, the backyard fort fell apart in a thunderstorm and no one wanted to rebuild it, and the library books have been overdue for a week because no one can remember where they went. I’ve yelled more about screen time this week than I did all of June and July combined. Last night, I caught myself sighing every time one of them asked for a snack, and I felt guilty, but I couldn’t make myself stop.
I ran into my neighbor Marnie on the way to get the mail yesterday, and she was sitting on her porch with a glass of rosé at 2:30pm. She laughed when I said I’m counting down the days to school, and said she’s right there with me. Her oldest starts high school this year, he’s been sleeping till noon and scrolling TikTok till 1am, and every time she mentions shifting his schedule before classes start, they fight. “I love having him home,” she said, twisting her wine glass. “But I’m so ready for him to go back.” It was such a relief to hear it out loud, not just the little guilty thought I keep to myself. Everyone says you’re supposed to savor these last days of summer, but what if you can’t? What if you’re all just stuck in the messy gap between one routine and the next?
The turning point came yesterday afternoon, when I snapped because my 7-year-old refused to get dressed to go buy school shoes. I raised my voice, I reminded him we’d already pushed this trip twice, and he just stood in the hallway in his dinosaur pajamas, crying, and said, “I don’t want summer to end but I don’t know what to do with it anymore.” And that’s when it hit me: I feel exactly that way. We’re all just bored and anxious and tired of being off, but sad that the easy days are gone, all at the same time. It’s not that the kids are being difficult, or that I’m a bad parent for being tired. It’s just transition limbo, and it’s hard for everyone.
I scrapped my whole 10-day back-to-school to-do list that day. It had 12 items on it: dry run school mornings, meet the teacher, sort school clothes, stock up on snacks, the whole thing. I crossed everything off except one rule: 15 minutes of back-to-school prep a day, max. That’s it. One day we tried on all the new jeans to see what still fits. The next day we watched the two-minute welcome video his teacher posted to the class website. If he wants to talk about who he’s excited to see, we talk. If he just wants to put a sticker on his new notebook and call it done, we’re done. No more cramming three errands a day and wearing everyone out.
Next, I brought back one tiny routine anchor, instead of trying to shift to the full school schedule overnight. All the posts I’ve read say start waking them up 15 minutes earlier every day two weeks out, but that just left everyone grumpy and tired at 8am. Now we only have one fixed thing: breakfast at 9am, at the table, no screens. That’s it. Waking up still happens whenever, bedtime is still flexible, but we have one small thing that’s the same every day. It gives just enough structure to keep the day from unraveling completely, without taking away the lazy summer feel that’s left.
Last, I gave myself permission to stop feeling guilty for extra screen time. I used to think I had to fill every gap with fun activities to make the last days of summer memorable. Now I tell the kids every afternoon, “Mom needs 45 minutes to sit and do nothing. You can watch one episode of your show or play quietly, and I’ll come get you when the timer goes off.” I set a timer on my phone, so there’s no negotiating, and I sit on the porch and drink my coffee or flip through a magazine, and no one gets in trouble for not doing a craft. Some days that means we watch more TV than I’d like in a perfect world, but everyone’s less snappy, so it’s worth it.
This morning, after I wiped up the popsicle puddle and broke up the remote fight, I gave them each a new popsicle, turned on Bluey, and sat down for 20 minutes to drink my cold coffee. I still haven’t ordered the new backpack my 7-year-old needs—the old one has a hole in the side where he carries his rock collection, and I keep forgetting. It’s okay if we pick it up the day before school starts. We have 10 days left. Some days I’ll still yell over a missing sock or a spilled juice box. I’m still tired, I’m still ready for the school routine to start back up. But I’m not trying to fix the mess anymore. This limbo is just part of the transition. It’s okay that it’s not perfect, it’s okay that we’re all over it. The first day will come, the routine will settle in, and right now, that’s enough.
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