The first Monday after school ends always feels most like the start of summer. We’re still getting into a new rhythm, shaking off the routines of school. The kids still wake up at 6; sleeping in is not aided by an early-rising sun. Growth is measured in small ways. The boys, 6, now play Monopoly without much antagonism or frustration. There is strategy and patience. Middle 6 now helps walk the dog, whereas a year ago, the dog was most assuredly walking him. Both boys are happy to be big enough to vacuum. I am rolling with that, for sure. Little 3 is going to a sweet little mini-camp for two weeks, two hours a day.
Heavy rains today, with a chill in the air. We have yet to go to the pool. Heavy pasta dinners still comfort, although within days we’ll set aside heavy sauces and trade for lighter summer fare.
Yesterday we made our first strawberry-rhubarb pie of the season, and attacked it like sharks attack chum.
Summers of late have been slow to arrive, shy, poking out from behind damp days and mild temperature. I want the days to be lazy enough to let us all get into a little trouble and scheduled enough to give us wonderful memories.
We sat and read Harry Potter tonight, all smushed on the couch, with absolutely no concern about start or end time. It was magical.