Most schools closed their doors this week, while most moms have swung open the doors of immense panic, sending themselves into a frenzy, brainstorming summer activities and plans to keep their kids occupied for the next two months. Myself included.
I found the largest wading pool that could fit on our balcony, sprinkled it with dozens of colorful rubber ducks. And this morning, took my last breaths of freedom. Then, a few hours ago, while staring at my pale, flabby body as it served as a bridge for Stef to swim under in the lukewarm water, I realized something. Summer is short. It’s nothing compared to the time I’ve spent this year trying to get him to go to preschool without crying, leaving him hanging off the doorknob wailing, cooking and packing lunch boxes, refusing to let go of naps, and watching him magically grow from a baby into a little individual. A kid who has a best friend, a favorite teacher, invites to parties, a wall full of artwork, a mind exploding with new words and ideas, constant questions, and hands and feet that can suddenly shoot baskets and kick soccer balls.
These will be my memories of this amazing year. And this summer may be the beginning of memories for him, for his lifetime. He’s three, images and moments will start to stay with him forever. The experiences we share will shape him as he grows, mold him into who he will be as an adult. I want him to remember laughter, grass, hugs, water, surprise, bicycles, friendship, safety, love, love, love. And at this early stage of his life, I want my face present in every memory he has.
There is no activity plan or camp for any of that. There is only everyday life. I will lose my mind, I will yell, I will count down the days to September. But I will also jump into that wading pool, and soak in every second, for before I know it, all I’ll have with him, will be fleeting seconds. And hey, maybe I’ll finally get a tan at the same time.