There was a time not long ago when I hated summer. HATED it. My kids are less than sixteen months apart, so for those early years with a newborn/infant, infant/toddler, toddler/potty-training toddler, potty-training toddler/preschooler the summer was miserable. It was exhausting to haul babies around in 110 degree heat indices. Vacations required the equipment equivalent of a major rock band tour. I would tick the calendar all the way to Labor Day.
And then it happened last summer. Parenting books may identify major milestones as walking, sleeping through the night, and potty-training, but the most significant finish line is this:
Being able to read a magazine while the kids are in the pool.
Sure, having a swim-capable child is one thing. But having a kid that can swim well enough that you don’t constantly have to keep eyes on him is another entirely. So last year, when I recognized that I could relax with the kids around water, my perspective on summer completely changed.
Summer is good.
The realization that my kids won’t be little much longer has set in over the last few months. The other day AG asked to borrow my flip-flops. Because they fit her.
And that scares the shit out of me.
There is a line in the sand approaching, where impressing the other gender will be more important than perfecting an underwater handstand, and where going for a drink won’t mean getting sno-balls.
I don’t know when that line is going to show up here, but it’s coming.
So on this, our first official day of summer, the work of creating memories begins. We will break out our Summer To-Do List and see how many things we can cross off. We do not fear the sun- that’s why they make hats and sunscreen and showers. We will concoct our own adventures, and sometimes, we will just be.
And we will hold on to each slippery day as long as we can, knowing that in just a few moments this summer will have passed, too.