It’s unofficially officially summer. I have to be honest – summer is not my favorite season. It’s only been within the last few years that summer’s charms have grown on me. As a small Type A that grew up into a bigger Type A, being off school was nice, but not the end-all, be-all of life. Although my husband and I both work year round, as our daughter has entered elementary school, it’s been more fun to have her off school for the summer than it was to have been off school myself.
Experiencing summer with my daughter is a great deal like giving a gift. Despite it not being my favorite season growing up, I have thousands of memories of wonderful summers. My family traveled quite a bit in the summertime. On Hilton Head Island, we ate fresh mussels at a paper-covered table overlooking the sea. I learned the art of dressing for tennis much better than I learned the actual game of tennis. My brother and I were allowed to ride our bikes to the general store for tiny cups of Ben and Jerry’s. In Vermont, we enjoyed exploring a Waitsfield free of the skiing tourists that usually crowded the shops and lunch spots. The town held a flea market in an open field, and Green Mountain Coffee was still just a local place to get lattes!
At home, we grew strawberries and roses and herbs. Living toward the western edge of the Eastern time zone, we sometimes had light until almost 10 p.m., the perfect thing for late evenings swinging and catching fireflies.
I keep thinking that my daughter will grow up and sit at a computer one day and write about all the things we’re doing now. Considering how frequently I hear ‘now take a picture of me,’ she’ll probably have a blog or a social media presence of some kind. It’s exciting to think that everything that’s happening now – school and her friends and the adventures we embark on together – will be part of the life story she tells her own children.
It’s also a bit daunting to think that she’ll always remember these things. As an aforementioned Type A, I’m fighting my impulse to try to make everything perfect. The real magic is not in staging everything. I’m shoving Type A aside to let the summertime unfold into its golden evenings and blueberry fingers and firefly jars.
And sleeping in. Even the Type A is always happy to sleep in.