I was chatting with a friend the other day about feeling sad that school has started. It felt surreal to say out loud because there were many summers in a row that were so hard. So draining. So overwhelming. When I was in the weeds of motherhood and trying to simply float and not drown. This summer was different though – in the very best ways and I’m not certain, but I think my girls felt it, too. This summer it felt like we were in it – their childhood – together, at the same moment, all of us aware of the magic and the innocence of it all.
And it was magic.
This was the summer my baby turned seven and my oldest turned ten. It was the summer we stayed up late watching bats and owls fly over us in the moonlight. We sat by the fire and roasted marshmallows and had nighttime swims in the pool with glow sticks. We did puzzles, made piles of friendship bracelets by day and painted with watercolors on the porch and LEGOs inside when the air was too hot….so many LEGOs. It was the summer I read books alone by the pool while my girls laughed with each other on the swings. We played scrabble and made leaf boats at the pond and ate buckets of ice cream.
It was the summer my girls discovered the joy of riding in the car with the windows down. They loved it so much they’d ask me to take one more loop around the block before we got home from whatever adventure we’d been on that day.
It was the summer they went for bike rides alone (only down the street of course) and learned to play tennis. It was the summer we traveled to Italy and swam in the Mediterranean for the first time and learned about Amalfi lemons, fed pigeons in Sorrento and danced in the street with their Dad.
It was the summer we started a Free Little Farm Stand and gave away hundreds of flowers to our friends and neighbors.
Of course it wasn’t all so idyllic and picture perfect every day. Of course someone was always hot or tired or itchy. Of course there were injuries (1 broken arm) and illnesses (one hospital visit). Of course I was annoyed at the daily prospect of feeding everyone. And while I didn’t need to pack a lunchbox every day, these little people still needed to eat and groceries still needed to appear in the fridge. Of course there were squabbles and tears.
But the magic was in the innocence of it all. The things we all found joy in were so simple and so authentically fun. Roasting a hot dog over a firepit is perfectly acceptable dinner. You always hear people say how amazing it is to view the world through the eyes of a child….but for many moms and for many years when the kids are young and you’re in the weeds, this is impossible.
It was impossible for me until this summer. Then one afternoon, they piled into the backseat of the car, sweaty and tired and asked me to turn up the music and roll the windows down, and everything clicked into place and I thought “this is it – I can see what they see, feel what they feel.”
The freedom of summertime is one of the great joys of life. I have vivid memories of my own childhood summers that felt just like the ones my kids just had. I remember the thrill of staying up late. I remember sleeping in and doing cartwheels in the grass and spending so much time in the pool I thought it was a real possibility I’d turn into a mermaid. I remember falling asleep in the car after a long day in the sun and the smell of a summer rain storm.
So yes, I’m sad this particular summer is over because it was full of magic and wonder and all the things that summer should be. But more than anything, I’m grateful it happened and I finally got to experience it with them…actually with them.
Finally, FINALLY! I wasn’t just the magic maker, or the getter of snacks or the keeper of the activities or the sunscreen enforcer and the boo-boo fixer.
This summer I wasn’t drowning in the weeds…I wasn’t even IN the weeds. I was swimming right alongside them – finally – and it was awesome.
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