Hoping for a Weird but Wonderful Summer

Will this summer be weird? Definitely. Will it be wonderful? Here’s hoping. Now that school’s officially out, drive-by complete, and library books checked out months ago returned, I’m looking ahead at what in the world we’ll do to fill summer days this year while the coronavirus continues to float around. 

There was cookie cake, and that’s always good…

While it’s impossible to imagine that we’ve adjusted to wiping incoming groceries with Clorox, it’s almost equally impossible to think there once was a time, not so long, long ago, when we went to salad bars and sent our kids to Lego camps where the bricks used are considered clean once they’re back in their bins and off the floor.

Will there be community Lego building events ever again? Are salad bars dead forever? Even with a vaccine, will humans ever truly feel safe breathing near others? Weird. Terrifying really, but I try to not head too far down that path. 

We know that the best part of summer is unstructured afternoons, impromptu drinks with neighbors, and taking a walk at 9pm in just-fading daylight. Summer memories feel more free and easy somehow, the thought of them filtered in buttery light. Tossing the ball with our kids at dusk, or sitting on the porch won’t be affected by the pandemic, but what happens to kids like mine whose parents work? I’m part-time, sure, but it’s still a lot of hours to fill without camps and friends. The magical promise of summertime and love feels less certain. 

Our last day of school epic water gun fight didn’t happen, of course, and my attempts at engaging our two next-door neighbors into having the kids hold one over fence tops have failed, at least so far. I plan to keep trying (and am sure Tucker will remind me).

Like I felt in 2015, I hope I get this summer right. 

Here’s how I’m going to try… 

Hoping for a Weird but Wonderful Summer

Years from now, I hope that Tucker and I look back on the summer of 2020 (which then will surely be known as the First Pandemic Summer or the Summer of F’Real Zombie Apocolypse) with fondness.

We’ll see weird, yes, but I hope we’ll also see wonderful. Below are some of the ways I imagine we’ll do so. 

Jeep rides in the sun, while the wind whips our bangs around wildly and gloriously, the music too loud or off completely because each has value. 

Floats in a small raft, in a small reservoir, and being grateful it’s only a mile away from home. 

Screen time, because let’s be real. 

Stumbling on silly faces in unusual places on days when a 10-year-old might be just a little tired of only seeing my face. 

Talks we’ll remember, or not remember held on a porch swing as dusk blankets us. Sometimes, just sitting silently together. There’s power in silently sitting together, after all.  

Hikes in the mountains to see the glory of nature. We’ll put on masks when we get close to other people, and we’ll remember that as part of the weird and wonderful. It’ll feel even more wonderful in the years ahead when we’re able to say “remember when we had to wear masks to hike?” “What a weird and wonderful summer that was.” 

Here’s the thing… hindsight tends to be kind when it comes to daily memories. Rather than looking back at endless seconds that should have been spent traveling or with friends, we’ll remember the moments that stick. The Jeep ride with balloons on the back when teachers clapped. The day at the tiny reservoir, trying to maneuver a small raft into the water bordered only by rocks. Getting the raft just far enough out so we can still jump in while not jumping too soon, because of the rocks.

We’ll remember the night it seemed Tucker grew taller than I am.

Because this just happened: (also hold me)

This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday post, with the prompt “The best part about summer is (or worst)…” We’ve written about the things we love and hate about summer before, but let’s face it. Nothing now is like ever before…