The last weekend of our summer is suddenly upon us. It seems as if we were just returning from vacation, trying to return to our normal summer routine. Now we’re about to have to change it all up again as we head into another year of preschool and the chaos that fall, the holidays and winter bring upon us.
I’ll be honest: summer is not my favorite season. This summer, however, has been a dream for me. The hot-hot days were few and far between. We did deal with the humidity, of course, though its presence allowed me to get back in touch with the natural state of my hair. (A post about embracing my curls is forthcoming.) I didn’t mind this summer. Probably because I wasn’t hugely pregnant.
The summer went far too fast, even for my summer-loathing self. I’m suddenly sad that our days of water gun battles are almost done for the year. True, there will likely be a few more warm days left in the year. True, we can always soak each other as we run through our backyard next year and in the years to come. But as the warmer days end, never again will I have a three and a half year old being chased by a one and a half year old, squeals of their still high-pitched laughter floating on the evening sunlit breeze. In fact, by next year, they probably won’t even call them water “gums” anymore. They’ll be water guns; gums a distant memory that they’ll hate for me to share with future girlfriends over formal holiday dinners.
I remember, as a child, adults telling me that, as I grew, the summers and the years themselves would fly by, faster and faster. I remember thinking that these adults were just waxing poetic, attempting to throw themselves a pity party for being “old”. I now realize that those adults were my age or even younger and I called them old. I now realize that they weren’t just trying to scare me into enjoying my summer, even when I was bored. Time does pass all too quickly when you’re chasing bitty-legs through the yard and finding sippy cups under the slide and washing spider webs off of playhouses and bandaging scraped knees and sitting in the ER and driving twelve hours (one way) and rescuing them from big waves and reminding them to eat their vegetables and putting them in bed even before the sun goes down despite their cries that it’s “still light outside” and cleaning up ice cream drips and laughing and sitting in sun beams and being generally exhausted. And more, of course. The time does go too quickly.
It’s not even that I’m sad that fall is right upon us, the high temperature for Monday in the area set to be a balmy 68 degrees. (I’m making homemade chicken noodle soup. Who’s coming?) I love fall! But, even though the hot temperatures make me grumpy, I loved watching my boys love summer this year. While they’ll love summer next year, unless they’re like me, they won’t love summer in the ways that they loved it this year. It will be a different kind of love. It will be just as pure, just as sincere. But it will be different.
As this summer becomes nothing more than a memory (and mostly mine as they are still quiet young), I hope I have memorized it enough. The way their laughter sounds as it echoes on a walk through the trees. The way their eyes sparkle as the ocean bounces the light off of them. The way their voices sound as they say, “One more time!” The way my heart swells with love and a million other emotions as they give each other goodnight hugs in their summer time jammies, wishing each other a goodnight. The way they helped to measure things for the new deck, amazed that the measuring tape went right back inside. Will they be amazed with things next summer? Who will they be next summer?
I guess we’ll find out. Onto fall! I wonder what awaits us there…