My entire life has been lived on the school calendar. I had 13 years of school, followed by 5 years of college, followed by 15 years of teaching. Somewhere in there, I began life as a mom of school-aged children. My years haven’t ever really started on January 1st, but somewhere in the middle of August. They end somewhere in the middle of May. Then, there are 10 or so strange weeks we call summer that over the last 40 years of my life are a haze of vacations and heat, and snacks, and activities.
I remember my summers as a child and teenager as wonderful days full of nothing. Teenage summers consisted of a yellow legal pad of chores our mom left us on the table, cheerleading practices and camps, and a blur of mac and cheese and MTV. When I was teaching, and before kids, it was sleeping in, awful television, and occasional lunches with friends. When I had kids, my summers were busy! The first two summers with my oldest were spent clinging to every second I had home with him. Snuggles and play time and nap time and story time filled our days, but I always noticed a trend. He reached his “half birthday” during the summer, so there ways always some changes that happened. They could be small changes in favorite foods or toys, or big changes in nap patterns or milestones, but it seemed he was never the same baby when I returned to school.
When his brother was born, I began teaching from home. I was with them both more, even amid preschool and babysitters, but the first summer came, and I noticed the same thing. No matter how we started in May, by August they were older… different. Subtle changes and evident milestones filled our summer days in between trips to the zoo and the aquarium and the library. I have since approached every summer with this question: what will it be this summer?
They have grown and changed throughout the years, as they should. Favorite foods and our favorite summer activities are different. We are no longer bouncing around from library story times to museums and poolside lunches. Now I am calling after the oldest as we walks out the door to his next thing to do, and calling upstairs to the youngest begging him to eat something other than chips in between Facetime calls with friends and video games.
Don’t worry… this is NOT the article where I tell you to cherish every summer because you only have 18 of them with your children. As a daughter who lives across the street from her parents, I am well aware that I will still see my children and we have a LOT of precious times together in front of us. However, I am also well aware that times are different. I know that I can no longer spend the mornings playing trains, doing a craft, making a lunch, and spend nap time listen to his gentle breathing through the baby monitor I left in his room way too long. These days I linger in their doorways a little too long sharing reels on Instagram and trying to get out any detail I can about their lives. I beg them to go to Target with me, usually including a bride of some sort of treat, so I can chat in the car for a little bit.
This summer is coming rapidly to a close, and it has been a very hard one in a lot of respects. We have had great times, but it wasn’t the summer I wanted to have. While my health struggles loomed over all of us, I think I have also been in state of panic, or rather paralysis. I know that once Senior year starts it will be a flurry of events and celebrations. This school year will fly by and we will just be a summer away from him calling somewhere else home. I will begin another summer that will end with the biggest change of them all.