Here it is. One of the greatest things about childhood. Summer vacation.
We are officially 40 minutes into it. And, I have not one thing planned. Or scheduled. Or thought out.
Over the course of the past few weeks, many moms and I have a conversation that went something like this:
Mom: "So, summer. It is almost here. What do you guys have planned?"
Me: (in a blind panic, thinking- What the hell? Summer? Already? I do not even know where the brochures or the camp flyers are! Did I recycle them? Crap.) "Oh, you know. We are still checking things out."
Mom: "Oh, good for you. We are all signed up for swimming lessons and art camp and sewing class and math enrichment class and the library reading program and space walks..."
Me: (Did she really just say space walks? Can people do that now? I really need to go through the recycle bin.) "Ok. Good. Sounds great! We will see you there. For sure!" (Shit. And a whole bunch of my other favorite swear words.)
And then I'd do something like the Walk of Shame from college all the way home mulling over in my head how much of a failure of a mom I was for not getting on the whole space walk thing. There were nights I'd lay awake tormented by my lack of signing up; my mind seized by thoughts of my children doomed to be adult failures because I did not sign them up for a summer camp or yoga class or origami in the park.
At some point, my thoughts shifted.
I do this thing. I try to do it at least once a day. I learned it from someone who told me to do it on the day of my wedding. Each day, at some moment- just an ordinary moment- I stop and take a very deep breath and take in every single thing about that moment. I try to implant in my brain the things I see, the feelings, the sounds, the colors, the words- everything about that moment in time that will never be again. I do it because I truly want to remember the moments in life that matter. It makes me feel alive.
For example, I did it today while we walked home in the pouring rain. Lugging all the leftover school supplies and paper scraps, my children walked in front of me partially hidden by a giant golf umbrella. Fat drops of rain slid off the umbrella. They skipped. Their shoulders touched and their worn out backpacks bumped behind them. They talked silly talk- the kind of silly talk only siblings can talk. The air was cool and echoed with their giddy little laughs. I wanted so badly to stop them and hug them and tell them to stay just like that. Forever.
I don't know when summer became yet another thing in life to be scheduled. I remember my summers as a child. My mom had us in swim lessons and an occasional class, like mime. (Really, a local college offered mime classes for kids and on the last day you "performed" your mime act. Mine kinda sucked, truth be told.) Mostly, my summer was playing in the yard, playing in the house, playing with my friends, talking to myself (seriously did this a lot as a kid), reading book after book after book, looking for worms or ants or roly-polies, and coloring (maybe on the brand new cement driveway). It was filled with what people today might consider- a whole lot of nothing.
And guess what? I absolutely loved each and every summer vacation of my youth. I would not trade those days for anything.
A few weeks ago, we visited our cousins. During this visit, my thoughts about our scheduled- summer- to-be were solidified. Lazily talking with my cousin, mom of 4, the conversation once again turned to what our summer plans were. I sighed this extra long sigh and admitted to her that I had not yet signed up for anything. And then I went so far as to almost admit it... aloud, but she stopped me. She said, "I know. You just can't do the grind anymore, can you? Me either."
I should have jumped up and kissed her. That was exactly it. I could not- can not- do the grind anymore. For me, it is endless and taxing and exhausting. The grind sometimes causes me to not do that thing, where I take in a moment to remember forever. The thought of being so scheduled this summer was making me neurotic. And sad.
What I was really longing for- for me and my children were endless days in which daylight stretches into night. Hands are constantly sticky from gooey ice cream and neon Popsicles. Water-logged afternoons at the pool. Digging in the dirt and weeding around our flowers. Playing games in the driveway. Reading good books on the porch. Enjoying the days of nothing together before they are gone.
Now mind you, two months into this summer vacation, I may be singing a different tune. But, there is always sangria in the summertime. Afterall, I have this theory that prohibition was actually ended by moms two months into a summer vacation who just couldn't take it anymore.
But, for now, I am off to design and color a giant TARDIS so that my children can play Dr. Who and have adventures- of the summer kind.
