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Eighteen Summers

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Summer. It’s every school aged child’s favorite word – a few short months of lazy mornings, homework free afternoons and evenings that stretch on long after the sun goes down.

When my children were preschoolers, summer was stressful. The loss of the daily structure created by their preschool threw me for a loop, as I struggled to fill our days with play dates and activities. When my youngest began elementary school and our neighborhood pool became our social hub, summers became relaxed and relatively stress free. I can sit under a tree, donning a huge hat and slathered with sunscreen, reading a book or chatting with friends.

Now that my oldest is finishing her freshman year in high school, summers are a welcome respite from mornings that begin at 6:00 am and homework that takes hours to complete. It is a time for more frequent family dinners, day trips, vacations, and sleepovers. With fewer commitments and obligations, my days of nagging and wrangling kids are put on hold, as we have the leisure of simply enjoying each other’s company.


kids walking in summerI love this time home with my kids. The three of us chill out in the summer, and they embrace the long lazy days with an appreciation they didn’t have when they were little.

I embrace these summer days too – I cling to them with a desperate urgency knowing that they will be gone too soon. In four short summers, my daughter will call a college campus her home. I only have four summers left with my baby before I send her out into the world. Yes, she will come home each May, but I know that it won’t be the same once she has lived on her own.

The start of summer marks another year passing. There are only eighteen summers in a childhood, and the numbers are creeping up much too fast.

I try to live in the moment. I try not to think of how quickly time flies. I try to think of the end of the school year as a beginning – the start of my babies’ fifteenth and twelfth summers. I will not wish away the days, or hustle the kids to bed when I’m tired and cranky. I will lie next to them and kiss them goodnight. I will peek in on their sleeping faces before I crawl into my own bed. I will embrace these summer days with my children, and each day after until I have to let them go.

This post has been stewing in my head for a month or so, and I had just started writing it when I read Meg on the Go’s piece, May is the Cruelest Month. Like me, Meg has bittersweet feelings about the end of the school year. Check out her post, and have a tissue on hand!
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