Growing up, summer began on Memorial Day with a race into the lake, winner being the person who was crazy enough to submerge in the frigid waters. The water of Long Lake was murky brown, and sketchy things happened on the shores- but I was too little to notice.
Summers were marked by peaches, plums, and nectarines ripening in brown bags on top of the fridge, raspberry picking in thorny patches, swimming “laps” in our kiddie pool, lunches outside, and hours spent aimlessly roaming. It was chasing Monarch butterflies, catching grasshoppers, and mosquito bites; lots of them.
I had mostly forgotten these things. But as I bit into a juicy peach this morning, memories came rushing back. I shared half of the peach with Avery, hoping to transfer the flavors of summer to a very blonde girl with very brown legs, who is growing up in the eternal summer of Florida.
After graduating college and heading to work, summers became a thing of the past. I carefully calculated my PTO so I could take a week off up North, but that’s about as close to summer as things got.
The first year of living in Florida was a year of summer, with no schedules to follow or home to maintain.
But this year, things changed. For 9 months, I drove Avery back and forth between preschool and home, 2 hours worth of commuting, 5 days a week. We were tethered to the schedule of pick up and drop off.
Two weeks ago, I watched Avery cross the stage at preschool graduation. I realized with a start, that despite the heavy feeling in my heart that I think all mamas get when their babies graduate from anything, we were about to slip into 3 precious months of freedom.
No longer bound to commutes or schedules, our days are lighter, containing fewer musts and more lets. Currently, we are enjoying not having to get dressed for the day, mostly wearing pajamas all day and putting on a new pair each night. Outfits are so complicated.
I don’t have to wake with my usual ferocity, trying to cram running and showering and praying and writing all in before Avery pads down the stairs. I do continue to try to fit all of these things in before her blonde mop appears before me, snuggling into a hug, but the pressure is off.
We spend our awake time slothing around, doing nothing in particular. This might be because preschool graduation was the perfect petri dish for a bug to take down the entire preschool class and their families. So mainly, we mope around, with junky coughs and sniffles. But hey, we are free.
Bedtime is later now, so we are no longer rushing against the clock to get the girls into bed by a certain time, to ensure a certain number of hours of sleep are acquired before the whole thing starts all over.
There is less math over how early we need to leave to be on time (or at least, not rudely late) and less battle planning over what things need to be packed for optimal survival of the day. There are a lot fewer calculations in this summer life.
After the girls are tucked in, I drag my yoga mat outside as the sun is setting; usually, not thrilled to be taking 30 minutes that could be spent loading the dishwasher. Slowly, I melt as downward dog becomes tabletop, and tabletop becomes child’s pose. During bridge pose, I watch as the clouds cross the sky, moving microscopically slow. Yet when I close my eyes for just a minute, I open them to an entirely different scene; clouds having sneakily rearranged themselves.
This summer will not be the same as my childhood summers; things are a little different here. For one thing, we will bake in the humid oven of Florida. Unlike crisp Minnesota lakes, the ocean is warm and leaves our skin sticky with salt and sand. Lunches will be enjoyed inside, in the cool reprieve of air conditioning. And raspberry bushes are a thing of northern states.
Yet while the clouds might have shifted, creating a new view, we are still under the same blue sky. The essence of summer; the late nights, popsicles, scootering and biking, pajamas for days, peaches and nectarines and plums, will remain. And that is what I most hope to transfer to my little nuggets.
Happy Summer,
Laura
