Summer is winding down around here. We try to deceive ourselves into thinking that we still have 100 glorious days of fun and fireflies, of swimming and s’mores ahead of us, but the truth is that in just three weeks we will be sending Bubs off to school again, and we will all be settling into a new routine.
There is so much we haven’t done this summer– so much I wanted to do– swimming at the beach, romping at the splash park, watching a movie at the bandshell. We have made memories, but sometimes I worry that we haven’t done enough. That my kids will look back to the summer of ’09 and only remember the things we didn’t do– the vacation we didn’t take, the strawberries we didn’t pick. They seem content enough, but what if?
And suddenly all the epic Mommy-and-Bubs bonding time I had planned to squeeze into this summer has evaporated into to-do lists and crazy work schedules and exhausted mornings. He’s three weeks from first grade and I’m so busy doing laundry and cleaning up spit-up and trying not to fall asleep during Sesame Street that I am missing out on his one and only summer of being six.
It is so easy to be hard on myself for failing to create idyllic memories of summer perfection, even though I know that perfection is an unattainable goal, and idyllic just doesn’t happen very often in families with three kids. I guess it’s normal to feel a little blue as I face the end of the summer and all that comes with it. But today I am choosing to focus on what we have done instead of what we haven’t done.
We have spent two marvelous weekends at my parents’ house, making kites and eating pancakes and getting spoiled.
We have enjoyed the unusually cool summer on many walks and trips to the park.
We have listened to Bubs read a whole bunch of books with his new-found literacy.
We have danced in the rain.
We have made root beer floats.
We have introduced the boys to the glory and splendor of a strawberry creme frappucino.
We have spent twilights at the park while my sweetie played softball.
We have eaten hamburgers and hot dogs black off the grill, s’mores sticky and gooey from the fire, slushes cold and sweet and delightful.
We have learned how to make Little One smile, and discovered ways to make her laugh.
We have memorized new Bible verses, sung new songs, and watched new movies to the crunch of popcorn.
We have licked popsicle juice from our fingertips, washed chocolate from our faces, and shared sticky kisses and sloppy hugs.
We have made leaf rubbings and grass snowmen and jello cake and messes– oh, the messes.
We have looked on in horror as Bubs’ pants got shorter seemingly overnight, and we have danced with joy when Stinky took a nap without an accident.
We have watched these boys of ours grow closer to the Lord. We have prayed with them and for them and seen those prayers answered as they help, and obey, and speak kindly.
We have laughed, we have cried; we have argued and made up and raced and tickled and laughed some more.
We haven’t seen perfection.
We have seen life, in all its imperfection.
And somehow, it has been perfect.