Toodles, summer. I only say, “Toodles,” because we watch so much Mickey around here. What I really want to say is:
NOOOO. DON’T LEAVE ME. MY LOVE.
But, Ashton, you say. It’s almost boot weather, and nothing tickles you like seasonal shoe rotations!
I know. Is this an identity crisis? I am usually itching for fall, but because I have no one in school to keep me on a schedule, September snuck up on me. I am panicking. (Just pencil me in as “yes” on that identity crisis.)
I LOVED this summer so much more than usual. That could be due to this being my first “normal-ish” summer experience in a long time. (Summer is so much more pleasant and carefree when I’m not nursing or pregnant.) However, after really thinking about it, I think the problem in years past was that I’d forgotten how to do it.
I forgot how to summer.
Thankfully, my little guys jogged my memory. This year:
I rememberered how water from the hose tasted.
I remembered how welcoming and warm cement feels after running in sprinklers.
I remembered the melody of creaky swing chains.
I remembered how Otterpop juice is July’s liquid gold.
It was magical. Thank you, my little guys. Having young children truly makes every season so much more vibrant. So exciting. So beautiful.
As the sun sets on this season, I want to savor every last bit of extended warmth we get in Las Vegas, as well as every minute of precious, unscheduled, “no one is in school yet so I’m not wearing pants” time.
Summer, it hurts me to have let you you slip my mind for a few years while I was adulting. I’ll try my best to cut that out.