Facing another summer as an adult

Summer hasn’t even started, officially. But school is out, and as I’m writing this, my teen daughter is waking up on her first day of summer break. Her alarm clock went off at 6 a.m., a leftover relic of our automated life that cruises along during the school year. Instead of hitting snooze, she gets to hit “off.” In less than 24 hours, the clock has suddenly lost its authority.

I, on the other hand, lift my head groggily from my pillow as I always do, trying to formulate full sentences to communicate to someone my dire and immediate need for coffee.

After breakfast, my daughter is already wearing a cute outfit, and she’s laced on her roller skates that just arrived from Amazon. Those skates are almost an exact replica of the ones I wore throughout the entire summer of 1985, I smile to myself. I do not tell her this. Apparently, even taste in vintage roller skates is determined by genetics.

I am reminded of a favorite bit from comedian Jim Gaffigan’s comedy special, Cinco:

“Summer vacation does kind of set up an adulthood of disappointment,” says Gaffigan. “That first job, you’re like, ‘I have to go to work in July? What is this, Russia?’”

Even though I love my job, I do feel a tug on summer mornings when my kids are lazily lounging in bed, while I rush to get myself out the door and on the road to the office. It still amazes me that I can be busily packing my lunch in the kitchen while wearing typical work clothes, my work ID lanyard clearly hanging around my neck and my son or daughter will look at me and say, “So…what are you going to do today?”

I’m going to work, I want to say. That’s what I’m doing today, tomorrow, and every other weekday, forever and ever, amen.

But I don’t say that. After all, I was a stay-at-home mom up until just a few years ago, so we’re all still adjusting to the fact that I have a full-time job outside the home. For years, summers were a different type of full-time job for me, coordinating summer art camps and playdates and trips to the pool, alternating with trips to the zoo. The popsicle molds were in heavy rotation, as were bubbles and sprinklers.

Those summers were arduous, at times, having four kids plus additional friends home 24/7 for three months a year. There were many moments where I felt like a tired old camp activities director who was fresh out of ideas. They were also the best days. I tried to give my kids the easy, carefree summer days that I was lucky to have in my childhood. Going along with Jim Gaffigan’s sentiment, you could say I did my absolute best to set up my kids for disappointing summers once they reach adulthood.

That brings me back to today. My daughter skates around me in the kitchen, her roller skates gliding soundlessly on our laminate floor. (Yes, I’m that Mom. Skating in the house is allowed as long as you don’t knock me over.) I search the fridge until I find a not-yet-expired container of yogurt that got pushed to the back behind the milk. She will let the day unfold in slow, splendid fashion before her. Perhaps she’ll set up her watercolors for a little painting on the porch. She’ll meet a friend later today and get a bubble tea at the little coffee shop down the street. I’m glad she can do all those things. I hope she savors them and holds them close.

I, on the other hand, will go to work. I’ll do my best to conjure memories of my own happy childhood summers. If I try, I can schedule in some fun summer activities for me to squeeze in on the weekends, or maybe even an occasional Thursday evening. An adult summer doesn’t unfold the way childhood summers do; adult summers are planned, reserved, and prepaid. 

I am an adult facing a disappointing summer, happily ruined by the awesome summers I had as a child, then later shared with my kids. I will go to work, summer vacation or not. That’s what I’m doing today, tomorrow, and every other workday, forever and ever, amen.

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