Lazy Days of Summer?

Whatever happened to those lazy days of summer, when your biggest concern was who to play with? When you left home in the morning and only returned for food and the bathroom (if then)? When games were made up and non-chaperoned? When the best ideas emerged because you were bored? When you came home at the end of the day dirty, sweaty, tired and happy?

When did summer become so scheduled? I remember our first summer in our “new” house. Our son was three, and we were finally in a neighborhood filled with kids. I had such high hopes of summer days filled with picnics, impromptu wiffle balls games and water gun fights. I pictured my son running through the sprinkler with all those children I saw at the bus stop every winter morning, chasing down the ice cream man as evening approached.

Imagine my surprise when summer came, and all I saw were cars driving past with babysitters at the wheel. Where were all the children? I soon learned the answer. Camps!

Soccer, baseball, knitting, theater, fashion design, tumbling, magic, photography, video games – you name it and there is a camp for it. And I soon found myself caught up in the carpool lines: mornings in the classroom, afternoons at the pool and evenings on the field.

I know of one mother who describes her role in the summertime as Julie from the Loveboat – cruise director extraordinaire, arranging play dates, coordinating schedules and dreaming up activities that would make Martha Stewart and her cohorts look like amateurs.

I had the opportunity to spend the past two weeks at the shore. The girls slept in until 9:00 or so, while I woke up at 7:00 and took my walk. They ate breakfast in front of the television while I read on the front porch. We ran an errand or did a project around the house, then had lunch at noon. We spent the afternoon on the beach, reading, collecting shells, jumping waves and dozing in the sun. We wandered home around 4:00, showering and cleaning up before dinner. Evenings were spent walking on the boardwalk or riding bikes to see the sunset. The biggest argument was what to have for dinner.

We were calm, content and relaxed, enjoying the surf, sun, sand and our anonymity.

Then we came home.

And we were off! Swim team for this one, volleyball camp for that one. He needs new shorts; she needs poster board. “Take me to the mall.” “Drive me to my friend’s house.” I spend more time in my car then I do at my house.

I can’t complain too loudly. After all, I am the one who signed them up for these camps and teams. I bought into the theory that bored children are the root of all evil. And unfortunately, so have friends and neighbors.

“Go call a friend” doesn’t work as a distraction when most friends are at camp. It’s hard to have a wiffle ball game with one.

And so our crazy days of summer continue. I am counting down the days until we return to the shore and our unscheduled days and relaxing nights. Until then, you can find me in my car.

The Beach

There’s something about the beach!

Perhaps it’s the sounds … Waves crashing onto the shore, and the cries of seagulls as they swoop down on unsuspecting sunbathers!

Or maybe it’s the smells… Salt air and suntan lotion! If someone could only bottle this smell, they would make millions!

It could be the feel… The warmth of the sun beating down on you or the burn of the hot sand as it spreads through your toes!

Of course there are the sights… On a clear day, the sun shines so brightly on that vast blue ocean, it hurts the eyes!

There’s just something about the beach! It heals me; soothes my nerves and calms my mind.

I have been known to drive that 1½-hour trip just for a whiff of salt air and a peak at the ocean.

Family lore says that salt air cures all that ails you. It is known to increase your appetite and make you sleep better! My daughter claims everything “just tastes better” down the shore. Is it any wonder I head down there whenever I can? (The promise of cheese fries doesn’t hurt either!)

Everyone has a special place – their nirvana that takes them away from their everyday stress to a place of peace and contentment. Mine is the beach.

I remember our first trip to the shore after our first child was born. Convinced he would never sleep through the night, and our lives would forever be relegated to tending to this screaming boy, we drove to the shore with the hope that the infamous salt air would heal whatever ailed him. (The promise of MomMom helping out didn’t hurt either.)

As we drove over the bridge and breathed in that glorious ocean air, I felt my shoulders relax for the first time in six weeks. And, while he didn’t exactly start sleeping through the night, we did get a solid six hours in him that night. (Ironic that now, we can’t seem to wake him from sleep – but that’s another story for another day!)

My family has a deep appreciation and love for the beach. While other families go skiing in the winter, we are known to head south. (You haven’t experienced the beach until you see it covered in snow!)

While others spend their summers at the lake, or sightseeing in the city, we pack up the car with our beach chairs and beach towels, and park ourselves in front of the waves, battling tides and errant Frisbees.

There’s a saying I love that says, “If you’re lucky enough to have a place at the beach, you’re lucky enough.” I couldn’t agree more.

There’s just something about the beach!

Dear Daughter

I could start with all your typical clichés: I can’t believe you’re finishing Middle School and about to start High School. Where does the time go? When did you get so old?

However, if there is one thing I learned from your brother, it is that time truly does fly and, in the blink of an eye, little ones grow up to be young adults.

I remember so clearly your first day of preschool. You and your friends were so excited, ready to learn and play.

You have always had such a wonderful attitude about life. “I’m going to meet lots of new friends today,” you told me one day on our way to your brother’s soccer tournament, swinging my hand and bursting with excitement.

Today, I see your worry, your fear. I hoped you might be immune to that uncertainty, but of course you aren’t. Yes, high school can be intimidating, physically and emotionally. It is big and full of older kids who drive and shave.

It is hard to leave a place where you feel in control and at the top of your game, and go to a strange building where you will be low man on the totem pole; a mere Freshman.

Fear not though. Those surrounding you were also Freshmen at one time, no matter what they say or how they act. (They are actually younger than your brother and his friends, and you can handle them.)

If I have one piece of advice for you, it is this: stay true to yourself. Your environment will change. Your teachers will change. Your interests may change. Your friends may change. And parts of you will change. But the true you, the little girl who grabbed my hand that sunny afternoon long ago and pronounced that she would meet lots of new friends, she will always be in there.

On that first day of school, when you face that large brick building for the first time, searching for your locker and a familiar face, channel that younger you. Put a smile on your face and think, I will meet lots of new friends today! And you will, I promise you.

The next four years will fly by, and I will be lamenting about sending you off to college (bite my tongue!) sooner than either of us want to think. Live in the moment, appreciate the time, and have fun. You will succeed! You are the middle child, after all, used to fighting for time and attention. You will succeed! And soon enough, you will be that upperclassman, ruling the school and intimidating the Freshmen class.

Congratulations, my little girl! Go get ‘em!

Can't we all just get along?

Is it too much to ask that my children get along with each other for one day?

Can I make it through 24-hours without hearing bickering and fighting amongst my precious offspring?

I thought the yelling and tattling would stop as my kids grew up. I thought wrong.

The oldest pesters the youngest; the sisters annoy each other; and they all aggravate me.

This one ate the last donut; that one borrowed my goggles without asking; he never walks the dogs; she never has to empty the trash; she always get the first shower; he always uses all the hot water.

And each and every argument ends with the same word: “MOM!”

Why isn’t Dad ever brought into these battles? Why does Mom always have to officiate?

I’ve tried reasoning. “You need to work it out together.”

I’ve tried ignorance. “I wasn’t there. I don’t know who left the empty box of cookies in the pantry.”

I’ve tried guilt. “Are you trying to drive me insane?”

I’ve tried dual punishment. “I don’t care who started it. You’re both in trouble.”

(I’ve even tried to hide. The dogs usually give me away!)

Nothing seems to work. The quarreling continues.

In my calmer moments, I try and remind myself that I too, fought with my siblings, yet we all survived. In fact, we are all very close. There is hope.

Unfortunately, these calm moments are few and far between, especially these days. With school winding down, tensions are rising in my household. Lack of sleep coupled with finals does not make for a stress-free environment.

Voices are rising and doors are slamming even as I write this. “I need to get in the bathroom to shower.”

“You always get to watch what you want.”

“Be quiet. I’m trying to work.” (Okay, this one was from me.)

I’m sure I’ll miss all this noise when the kids are grown and out of the house. I’m sure I’ll reminisce and think about the good old days, when the house reverberated with their voices. I’m sure of it, aren’t I?

Guilty Pleasures

~Staying up until 2:00 a.m. to finish a great book by a favorite author
~One hour, alone, in a bookstore
~An early morning walk with a friend
~Ghiradelli’s Double Chocolate brownies
~An afternoon on the beach – in the middle of the week – by myself – on a sunny afternoon – in May!
~Cheese fries
~A morning spent browsing the shelves of our local library

(I feel better just typing these up!)

~A weekend away with my sisters
~Lunch with my husband on a Tuesday afternoon
~Coffee with a friend (even though I don’t drink coffee)
~Staying in bed on a rainy morning and letting my husband get the kids off to school
~Reading People magazine, cover to cover, in one sitting
~A Brown’s cinnamon donut

(See the re-occurring food theme here?)

~Day-dreaming in the middle of the afternoon
~Taking my kids out of school early to head to the beach for the weekend
~Breakfast for dinner
~Mack & Manco’s pizza
~A cold beer on a dock gazing at a beautiful sunset
~A morning bike ride on the Boardwalk (before the crowds gather)

(I thought I would only list a few – seems I just can’t stop!)

~A pedicure
~Reading Facebook profiles of long-lost friends
~A nap in the middle of the day
~Finding and buying a great dress – on sale – just because
~Pulling out old pictures and photo albums and remembering “the good old days”

Life’s short! We all need some diversions once in a while. This list will hang above my desk, ready to be added to, or perhaps picked apart, if needed. After all, what’s life without a few guilty pleasures in it?

One Year Down

He wasn’t even home seven hours and he was in trouble with his sister. He pulled into the driveway at 12:55 a.m. and by 7:20 a.m. the next morning, although still in bed, their paths never crossing, he was on her black list. He had eaten the last Pop Tart!

He has returned. My first born, the big brother, the only son, is once again home with us. We had survived his first year of college! Now, let’s see if we survive his first summer home!

With his arrival comes not only bags of clothing, faded sheets, ripped towels, torn blankets, old (and new?) electronic equipment and dirty laundry, but also a host of issues to deal with – negotiating a curfew, finding a job, sharing household responsibilities.

It’s an adjustment for everyone. We have to be quiet in the morning, when the girls are getting up and ready for school (a fact he loves to remind them of on a daily basis!) and he has to realize he is no longer living in a dorm with 50 noisy teenagers.

His first night home, my husband and I walked the dogs, locked up the house, turned off the lights, and went to bed in time to catch the 10:00 news – a typical night in our house.

Much to our horror, he yelled from his room, “I’m heading over to a friend’s house at 10:30!”

I, of course, responded, “You’re kidding, right?” (He wasn’t.)

I remember those days. I remember being annoyed at my parents when I would wander out of my room on a Friday night at 10:00 to go out, and the chain would be on the door and the outside lights would be off.

“They have got to be kidding,” I thought. “Don’t they know no one goes out before 10:00?”

Now, if I am still awake for Seinfeld at 11:00, I think I’m doing well.

We’ve forgotten some things: how much food he eats, how much milk he drinks, and how loud he is. He has forgotten some things: house rules - make your bed, pick up your clothes, and leave some food for the rest of us!

But we're coping. He's got a job. We're leaving the lights on later. And he's learned not to eat the last Pop Tart.

He’s happy to be home – there is comfort in familiarity. And, although my shopping bill has doubled, laundry has increased and sleep has decreased – I wouldn’t trade it for anything! He’s home, we're all together again, and I’m happy!

Thanks Mom!

Someone asked me recently what I would like to be thanked for on Mother’s Day. What things do I do that seem to go unnoticed or unappreciated?

I thought about it for a few seconds, and came up with a list of about a dozen things I felt my family should thank me for: changing diapers, doing their laundry, cleaning their closets, shopping for school supplies, attending countless (endless) recitals, killing bugs, hosting sleepovers – you get the point.

But that seemed too easy, too mundane, so I started to think of what I would thank my mom for, if she was still alive. And, as my daughters came home from school and told me about their days, it came to me.

It wasn’t any one specific task that my mom performed, rather it was something she did day after day, hour after hour.

“Mom,” I would say, “thank you for listening!”

Thank you for listening to the same stories over, and over, and over again. (There are six of us. Imagine how many “That teacher is so unfair” complaints she had to hear.)

Thank you for concentrating on me and making me feel like I was your favorite. (Which I clearly was, no matter what my brothers and sisters say.)

Thank you for not rolling your eyes and saying I told you so. (We all know how hard that is!)

Thank you for listening and really hearing me. (Even when I wasn’t sure what I was saying.)

Thank you for taking the time to hear about my day, even when you had dinner to make, laundry to fold and ironing to do. (Did I mention that there were six of us?)

It isn't always easy to sit still and really listen to our children. There are so many distractions in our lives today – e-mails to answer, meetings to attend, carpools to drive - which can pull us away, physically and mentally.

“The first duty of love is to listen.” (Paul Tillich) I have posted this quote on my refrigerator, hoping it will inspire me to stop and listen when my children speak.

I know many parents drive their children to school just to spend time with them, to listen to them. When I had just one child, I thought that was silly. Now, I think it’s brilliant. (Just make sure you unplug and turn off all electronic devices.)

One of my favorite writers, Anna Quindlen, summed it up for me in three short sentences: “I show up. I listen. I try to laugh.”

To all the mothers I know, Happy Mother’s Day! Congratulations for showing up and listening, every day, in good times and bad.

And Mom, thank you for listening, then, and now!