My yard is more mud than riot of color, but it’s trying. My valiant magnolia has exploded into its yearly pink fireworks, encouraging the rest of the garden to follow suit. The azalea joined in this morning with a few fluttering purple petals. Soon the lilacs and the forsythia will follow suit and spring will be here in full force. In Chicago, spring is often fleeting, a few glorious weekends stolen from winter. Spring has only just arrived, but already the whisper of summer is all around me. And that is one threatening whisper.
Summer is coming. Summer is coming. Our winter coats are still hanging by the door, but the whisper of summer is already in the air, chilling me to the core.
In theory, summer is freedom, lazy days of kids playing joyfully from morning until firefly lit dusk. Games of kick the can that go on for days. Late night swims after dinner, chlorine heads hitting the pillow happy and exhausted. The reality is that those perfect lazy days are not frequent enough, pushed out by too many long days of kids sneaking in to watch too much TV, complaining of boredom, and refusing to go to the pool (which is right across the street!).
I read a repost of an Anna Quindlen Newsweek Article about the benefits of an unscheduled summer and it made me want to vomit with anxiety. While I agree with her premise that kids are too scheduled nowadays and need some time just to be bored, that thought also fills me with dread.
Victory Dance!
I’ve tried the unscheduled summers and I’ve tried the overscheduled summers. This year, I’m going for a shock and awe balancing act. We’ll be alternating between weeks of nothing and weeks of everything. I’ve signed the kids up for a variety of novel experiences that are far afield, choosing thrill over location. Jack will be sailing in Chicago. Juju will be sculpting outdoors. Bella will be doing fashion design at the Art Institute. And then we’ll all come together to do nothing, open and ready to enjoy the lazy days of summer.
Summer is coming. The kids have started counting the days. I hear it in the teacher’s tone in their weekly emails home. I read it in the camp sign up emails in my inbox. But I’m done. The planning is over. Let summer come. Bring on the end of the year. Bring on the last day of school. My plan is in place and I’m sticking with it.