Jack shit summer

Jack shit summer

The sun is shining, school is out and the living is easy.

Summer has arrived and time is speeding up, as the days grow shorter.

It seemed we waited on summer to show up forever, but really, no sooner had Spring shown up when I started getting asked the big question about Wren’s social calendar.

Wait, my Wren? Social?

“What will you enroll her in?” “Which camps will she be going to?” and “Which sports teams is she joining?”

And each time I was confused by their question. Each time my response- of nothing, no plans, nada- then warranted the same bewildered look out of them, which then confused me more, because hell, we were just talking about my four year old child, right?

My four year old whose only understanding of an organized anything involves sticking two fingers up her nose at once. My four year old whose true life passions involve sneaking snacks from the cupboard and balancing barefoot on car rooftops.

The only thing she’s getting coached in this summer is how to run through the sprinkler without tripping over the hose, how to shake the sand out of her snatch at the end of the day and how to tent on a Tuesday for no reason at all.

She’ll learn to reconnect with her cousins and to suck ice cream from the bottom of the cone. She’ll try out the world’s smallest waterslide and she’ll swim in fresh and salt water all in the same day.

She’ll wear the threads out of that one godforsaken pink swimsuit she’s willing to wear.

She’ll eat watermelon for lunch and make homemade popsicles for breakfast. She’ll grow calloused feet from running barefoot on our dirt roads and we’ll watch the baby chicks grow.

This summer we’ll pick herbs when our breath is bad and we’ll make flower crowns for the horses. We’ll arrange flower bouquets for each room and we’ll eat every meal on the deck, whether our food blows off our plates or not, because that makes clean up easier.

This summer she’ll admire her father as he builds improvements for our property with his own two hands, and she’ll “help” him out, too.

This summer she’ll spend every waking hour running to and from her best friend’s house next door, at one moment giggling that he’s her everything and the next announcing she will NEVER play with him ever again.

This summer my kid’s enrolled in jack shit. ‘Cause this summer, my kid’s only four flippin’ years old.

At this stage she isn’t asking and she’s not interested, thank you very much, and I am going to ride that wave out as long as possible. Because I know that whether I want it or not, there will  be a time she’ll have me convinced me driving her half way across the county twice weekly seems like a good idea for something or other. She’ll have me thinking she’s following her dreams, or whatever, while she progresses through the levels of Tae Kwon Do (which would be amazing) or the school band (the more likely scenario).

She has all the time in the world to get old- there is still so much time for competition and setting goals. But right now she is four years old, and that’s all she needs to be enrolled in- free play, free sunshine, and learning how to be a kid.

This year, yes, we’re committed- to enjoying the summer, rather than racing through it.

So yeah, call me lazy or what have you because my kid’s enrolled in jack shit- but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

4 Responses to Jack shit summer

  1. Awwweeeeesome! This made me laugh out loud…and I’m so grateful for a fellow jack-shit mama. Sometimes I feel a twinge of something that Ada basically does no organized activities but she hates them and we hate them and it’s a total waste of time and money. She’s really good at being a weird little kid though….

  2. I still recall the best summers when I was a kid. For about eight years straight, the moment after school ended, my mother had my sister and I on the Greyhound heading to our grandparents’ (all four on both sides of the family) small town in southwest Saskatchewan. Those long, leisurely days were chock full…peddling yellow banana bikes with glitter tassels around town, spending long hours lying in the August sun around the public pool, buying jam filled doughnuts and sticky blue popsicles from the one-man bakery (foreshadowing?), fishing for pickerel with our grandfather, staying out at his retro trailer by the lake (more foreshadowing?), roasting endless marshmallows on sticks, playing kick the can around nighttime campfires with cousins, and eating carrots and peas right out of the garden. Then, at 15, I decided to stay at home for a summer job and those magical summers were over. Savour summer with your sweet family, Whitney, and thank you for igniting special memories!

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