I used to wonder if Hugh would really experience summer as “summertime.” He goes to school year-round, and we both work year round, so would there be a difference except for the persistent heat?

My parents were teachers, so summertime was a line in the sand. Summer meant sleeping in, watching Diff’rent Strokes and Facts of Life, then heading to the 300 Club pool at the top of the street to spend the day doing handstands in the water and eating ice cold red slurpies.

In spite of the fact that our schedules still involve work and school, summertime still managed to find us. Instead of rushing out the door everyday at 7:55am in order to make car line, Hugh usually shows up around 8:30 or 9:00am and joins the kids on the playground. Instead of doing Montessori “work” all day, he spent more time playing and watching movies. He took vacations to California and Wisconsin, went to the water park, stayed up til 9 or 10pm every night. This week, school is closed, and he’s spending his days half-naked, taking the couch apart.

Yesterday, I bought him a new lunchbox and a new napmat. He won’t use them until school starts the week after next. He’ll have his teacher back from last year, his Montessori work cycles, an earlier bedtime, and a more harried morning routine.

It’s hard in some ways to let go of the languid pace, but summer wouldn’t feel like summertime if not for other seasons.

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