Slow Summers and My Own Personal Global Warming

Well, here we are, north for the summer, and I am still sweating like a beached whale.

It probably doesn't help that it's that time of the month, but my goodness.

I unload the car? Sweating.

I uncover the boat? Sweating.

I work in the yard for twenty minutes? My clothes are soaked, my bra is soaked, and I look like I just completed an Olympic event.

For years I thought all this talk about global warming was the weather's fault. Now I'm beginning to suspect my body has developed its own internal heating system.

What in the world is happening?

Aside from my own personal climate crisis, summer at the lake has settled into its familiar rhythm.

The lake is still the lake.

The people are still good people.

And while our boat seems to be suffering from a severe case of seasonal allergies and early-season hiccups, a few neighbors have graciously let us use theirs. As wonderful as it was to be back out on the water, borrowing someone else's boat is one of those things that is both relaxing and mildly stressful at the same time. You're trying to enjoy yourself while also mentally calculating the replacement cost of every object onboard.

My flowers appear to be going through their own set of trials.

After surviving the trip north, they were greeted with several weeks of crazy temperatures and direct sun. The poor things are experiencing transplant shock, and honestly, I can relate. I've put up all my supports and have been babying them daily, so we'll see what happens. Gardening has a way of teaching patience whether you wanted the lesson or not.

Yesterday I was outside working on my rock wall when my son decided I looked thirsty.

He proudly brought me a White Claw.

Now, before anyone calls child services, he simply recognized the can and thought he was being helpful.

It was thoughtful, though.

It also made me realize just how much that child pays attention to absolutely everything.

Nothing gets past him.

Life here is incredibly slow.

It's a small town. We've been coming here for years. The biggest drama in my life right now is whether the boat decides to cooperate on any given day.

Honestly, I can't complain.

Family comes and goes throughout the summer whenever work schedules allow. The days are simple. The pace is slower. The pressure feels lighter.

I'm still homeschooling my oldest.

My son wants absolutely nothing to do with formal lessons, but my daughter is so passionate about learning that he usually ends up listening anyway. Homeschooling him someday is going to be a completely different ball game, and I suspect he'll be teaching me more than I teach him.

Since we've been here, I've been trying to give the kids a little more freedom.

Bedtime is a little later.

Playtime lasts a little longer.

Schedules are a little looser.

And their imaginations have absolutely exploded.

My daughter recently built an entire kitten house out of construction paper. It has rooms. It folds up. It has little paper people and furniture.

It also has paper scraps scattered across every available surface in the house.

I've decided that's a fair trade.

You only get a handful of summers with your children before they grow up and move on.

The paper scraps can stay.

My son spent one afternoon "mowing" the grass with his toy lawn mower. When he finished, he stretched out in a lawn chair with a glass of milk like a man who had just completed a hard day's work.

I don't know why, but that image made me smile.

Maybe because it was so simple.

Maybe because it was so innocent.

Or maybe because I realized that these are the moments childhood is made of.

I know to some people this kind of life probably seems ordinary. Maybe even boring.

No expensive vacations.

No packed schedules.

No constant entertainment.

Just lake days, construction paper creations, toy lawn mowers, flower gardens, family visits, and slow evenings.

But when I look at my children, I don't see ordinary.

I see kids who are building forts, making messes, using their imaginations, and creating memories that will stay with them long after the paper scraps are cleaned up.

They're having a wonderful childhood.

And honestly, that's all I've ever wanted.