Hardly. I actually secretly dread summer exactly because I know my workload’s about to increase by about 93%. And yet, you can hardly not love summer. I’m a sucker for just about all of it.
I love that I can sleep in just a bit. But also that it’s light so early that I hardly ever want to. I love waking up with the birds and the sprinklers, the quintessential sounds of summer. I love that Todd and I get to sneak off for an early-morning walk before everyone wakes up. I love that we have the roads to ourselves. Except I’m kind of surprised that we really don’t. I have no idea why so many other people are awake so early, most of them are in trucks. I love that we have time to grab the paper and pick a few weeds and to check on the garden before we come in. I miss my more intense work-outs during these summer months—there just doesn’t seem to be as much time now that the mornings are dedicated to yard work. (Kind of funny to work out all winter and then slack off in the summer when more of you is showing.) I love that we’re all up by 7:30 and that we can eat breakfast together and read a bit before Todd needs to leave for work. Sometimes on the back porch in the crispness of the day.
It’s hot before we even really get started on the day, but the house is cool from having all the windows and doors open (we get a lot of bugs—no one cares). I love feeling the cross-breeze as its freshness wafts through the hallways. Eventually we will close everything up, and I admit I hate the darkness that creates. But it’s worth it because the house will stay around 73 all day when we do; and, before long, the heat of the day wanes and we can open everything up again. I love living in a desert where the nights are cool enough to warrant both a sheet and a bit of a blanket with a breeze caressing your sleep.
I love that the kids know the routine and that finally there’s little resistance. I love weeding beside them, clipping dead flowers, pulling up old stems. A satisfying rescue of a flower from the a tenacious Morning Glory vine, the defining snap of a hearty dandelion stem, tiny trees effortlessly uprooted, the garden boxes picked clean. They’re not into it and just as I’m settling into the work, they announce their buckets are done and they’re heading in.
I love that we have both nothing and everything to do on these summer days. The calendar isn’t empty, but it’s not like the school year. I try to stick to maybe one outing a day if we can. The mornings are for yard and house work, and then we’ll go swimming or to the park or have a picnic or play with friends. We’re like you and have all sorts of dental and doctor appointments, we have church commitments and hair cuts and piano. But we’re not the kind to sign the kids up for things and we’ve been pretty intermittent even with swim lessons over the years. I guess it’s my old-fashioned ways at play once again.
I love the idea of cleaning out the dress up clothes and craft closet. The garage and maintenance room. I envision myself patching up the sleeping bags, organizing the camp boxes. I love the idea of everyone paring down their rooms to a minimum, recycling old school papers, finding lost library books, bulging donation bags lining the halls. I love the thought of everyone cleaning their blinds. I know. This stuff never really happens. I’m just an eternal optimist thinking/hoping this year will be different.
I love the summer storms that visit so often in the evenings. I love the green hills contrasted with the ribboned gray hues of our Big Sky. What’s better than cuddling in bed listening to the rain through open windows? I remember when we were very first married how much we relished the storms as the French doors of our bedroom opened up to the mountains and the rains. Our tiny apartment rested on the garage, so it was if we were part of the sky itself. Maybe those are the memories we lean on when we sense a change in the air.
I love that dinners are a cinch. I love that we have a grill right outside our door and a whole produce section right off the porch. I love knowing the lettuce and potatoes are fresh, that there’s more cilantro for tomorrow, that there will be beans later this week, and that we have onions to last till next fall. I love that the oven’s rarely on, that we eat salad almost every night, that we can linger on the patio for as long as we want. I love that we ditch it all for hamburgers and shakes. Often. I love that we’ll drive for an hour to our favorite mountain shack for greasy fries and ice cream. Just so we can sit by the creek and eat in peace.
I love that Todd reminds me of Mr. Rogers. Not like that, just how he changes his clothes when he gets home, ready for the next part. Anxious to get into the garden or to feed his bees or work on the rock. Almost as if eating is an impediment. I love that Callum wants to know what work they’ll be doing that night. I love that I can sneak away early, having put in my time earlier in the day. By night I’m not the greatest company. All I want is my Real Simple and my puffy socks. But I love reclining to the din of their project voices.
I love getting back on the road. Confined by the cold and snow for so many months (who can afford to fly anywhere when you’re a family of seven?), we’re anxious to travel, to see what’s out there, to try something new. We’re a little rusty on the first camping trip of the season, kind of like the first days back to school. It takes awhile to get our rhythm back, but then we’re good. We recall what it was that worked best for breakfast on the road and remember to add sunflower seeds, Funyons, and Dr. Pepper to the list. The kids are tight packers and experts with their to-do bags. I love that we wake up at 3:30 and are praying in the van at 4. I love that we’re bound together for 10-14 hours; it’s so much easier these days than it was with toddlers and babies. I love the tentative reunion with grandparents, the familiarity that comes back in small ripples, reuniting with the different houses, retracing their steps to the lake, the Legos from Todd’s childhood, their fort from last year.
I love that we spend so much time outside. Both here and there. I love that our doors are open so much of the day, that shoes are optional. I love camping amid the pines, roasting marshmallows in our own backyard, hiking in the mountains, wading on the shores. I love hot dogs only on a stick and I’ll gladly trade in perfume for campfire smoke for an evening.
I love (not really) the sticky pools of colored sugar liquid on the desk by the computer, the little plastic snips from Otter Pops with syrup dribbled out, sticky-ing my scissors and littering the counters and tv viewing areas. I love the nasty fare of easy-summer snacks fixed by kids eager for quick carbs and the path of least resistance. They beg for Que Bueno cheese sauce from Costco. I’ve done it before. I can hardly do it again. Boxes of macaroni find their way to our recycling. The pizza oven’s a constant counter companion. Chocolate milk—Nestle a summer indulgence; occasionally that Country Time lemonade mix when we’ve gone camping and have leftovers. Granted, we add watermelon and grapes and strawberries to the summer lunch mix and try to balance out whatever diet you’d call this all. I’m not on board, yet I also love that it’s so traditionally our house in the warm months. A hiatus from health by anyone’s definition. I guess the extra play time outside compensates. Slightly.
I love days by the lake. When we leave early and set up camp before anyone else, knowing exactly how the shade’s going to land. I love afternoons by the pool. Any pool. Friends who are awesome, the indulgence of paying for the one with great slides. I remember back to the wading pool days, the splash park afternoons. We sometimes still go if I just have the little ones with me. I hate the thought of giving that part of our summers up. Maybe because it’s been the way we’ve summered for the past 19 years—at parks and in small plastic tubs of water on the front lawn. I remember one of our first with Andrew—just under a year—outside of Orchard Downs, the married student housing our first year of vet school. We’d let them splash in water pools right outside our steps, they loved how blue even the whites of his eyes were. Such simple days that still stand out.
I love the freckles that have popped out overnight on the little kids’ faces. I feel bad for their burns we so carefully worked to avoid. I love seeing our pale limbs take on some color, gradually wakening from their milky slumber, all of our freckles coalescing. I love tan lines. Because I have so few. I love the warmth of sun on my skin, wading in the shallows, watching the kids do what kids throughout the ages have always done.
I love flip flops and sandals. Shorts and short sleeves. My favorite of all is jeans and sandals and a little shirt. Unencumbered by layers and jackets and shoelaces and socks. I love that sunglasses become the added accessory to keep hair back, hardly permissible in cooler Montana months. I love that getting out the door requires little more than some snacks and water bottles. No coats and hats to slow us down, we’re minimalists for a season, and I love playing peek-a-boo with my polished toes, unwrapped from their winter sleep.
I love trips to the library, cool and inviting. Anything at all for the taking. Loading up our arms and bags with new friends and old pals. Movies and novels. Picture books and workout dvds. Now and then we’ll take a trip to the bookstore, which is both different and similar. I love the freshness, the brightness. I love the ambiance, the soft chairs and array of periodicals. The shelves of brand new books and puzzles, games and bargains. We hardly ever buy anything, but we love it all.
I love the summer nights when Todd takes us all fishing for the evening. Packing up our tin foil dinners and fruit and cookies. We’ll take the winding road that leads to our favorite spot, the kids will play on the bank, we’ll throw rocks and listen to the loons. I love that we still have light so that Todd can have summer with us. In the winter it’s certainly dark when he gets home; this is such an indulgent way to spend the night.
I love the days we stay inside all day. When it’s the exhausting kind of hot that’s too intense for even swimming. We indulged in an Anne of Green Gables marathon with friends a few years back. We might try it again this year. We make a list at the beginning of each summer, things we want to make sure and do. I always put Wild Bill Lake, ice cream at Rock Vale; the kids want a junk food day and a movie day. Projects are always Todd’s contribution.
Today is typically us. Yard work and chores. The big kids took a run. The little kids played piano and read for fun. We’ll work in the yard a bit more tonight. We’re heading to the park in a bit. But it’s hard to interrupt the lazy days of summer for even such diversion. Because the Star Wars marathon has already begun downstairs.
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