Week Twelve

As it always does this time of year, the past 12 weeks have imperceptibly moved forward without my permission. 
Did you have a good summer?
That's what you always ask.  In this midwestern state, you have a period of 12 weeks to go outside, dance toes at water's edge, hook up sprinklers and run through its slow back-and-forth waving wall of water.  12 weeks of more sunshine, longer evenings, lax bedtimes, shrugging shoulders.
Did we have a good summer?
Every time I have been asked this, I find myself pausing, looking upwards with a squint...what did we even do this summer?  And then I feel a small thunk of sadness in my chest.  I didn't treasure the summer.  You have 18 summers with your kids, and then they're gone.  Oliver has lived half of those already.  And I can't even recall, really, how we spent our time.
I remember summers that were magical with them.  A park every day, maybe even two.  The beach. Concerts in the park. The zoo.  Splash pads, day trips, hours in the blue inflatable pool, bubble wands.  Ice cream, county fairs, library storytimes, movies in the theater every Tuesday.  This year?  We didn't go to the beach, not even once.  We let our zoo membership lapse. Our bubble solution is collecting flies in the front stoop, and there is no chalk on the driveway.
Panicked, I tearfully confessed to Michael the other night that I was afraid I didn't give the kids a good summer.  I wasted a perfectly good summer, while our boys were kids and actually wanted to be around me.  I won't get that time back again.
Michael gently reminded me that we did a lot this summer.  I gave him an eye roll worthy of a sullen teenager, but he continued to remind me.  We went tent camping as a family, twice.  We learned how to raise monarchs.  We raised fish in a 30 gallon tank, and learned about life and death through the process.  We travelled up north. We played mini golf.  Every Thursday was spent exploring the world with Grampa Dave, after ritual French toast made from glazed donuts.   We played board games, more board games, and then some more board games.  Oliver had piano lessons. We swam like guppies. We took art classes.  We grew 9-foot sunflowers, 4 different kinds of tomatoes, several pints of raspberries, gallons of rhubarb, and 11 types of flowers. We saw four massive firework shows, went to ValleyFair 10 times, hosted parties that put Gatsby to shame.  We got a basketball hoop.  And, to be fair, this is the first summer that I have worked full time in several years, which means I actually only had two days of summer during the week with the boys.  Okay, I agreed. Maybe we did have a good summer.
But was it magical?
How many days did I suggest the zoo, a park, a splash pad, only to be met by "I don't wanna"'s by the boys?  Nearly each of those 2 days a week I was home with them, that's how many.  And I confess here something very deep and dark...in my mind, I balled up my fists, whined, and thought, "what a waste of summer, just staying at home."  And then Oliver reminded me of something last week.  Instead of hurling 12 ideas of fun summer magic at them, I simply asked one day, "do you guys want to go out to do something fun today? Or stay at home?"  Both of them said in chorus, "stay at home." Oliver quickly added: "Mom, it's always stay at home for me."
Insert wake-up call here.
Maybe it's because they only have two days a week with me this summer and they just want to be together. Or maybe, dare I say it...the things I deemed to be part of a magical summer...they have outgrown.
The thought makes me swallow hard and reach for the Kleenex.  Another phase of their childhood is now gone.  Story time at the library and jumping around in sprinklers is not what they're into anymore. I need to let go of what I consider an ideal summer together, and allow them to show me what it actually is.  It looks a lot like staying at home and playing 59 rounds of  Trouble.
And it makes sense, doesn't it, when everything around us is spinning so fast and demanding too much, even of our 1st and 3rd graders, that staying still and being together is, actually, the magic.  Family dinners, reading, playing games, coloring, staying home, all of this is endangered by 7-hour school days that give kids 17 minutes to each lunch and 18 minutes to run outside, followed by homework that starts in kindergarten.  We have only slices of time left for the sports and lessons and clubs we put our kids into before we rush them off to bed to do it again the next day.
We are told by way of neon flyers, Pinterest boards, emails, and Facebook groups, to engage with our kids through activity. 
But friends, let us give ourselves grace to be still.  Time is never wasted when it is spent doing nothing.  Summers are not squandered when we choose to stay home.  Skipping out does not mean missing out.  I thought I was shaping memories for my kids;  I thought it was my job.  Turns out, if you let them show you, they do it all on their own.