As the school year wrapped up, I found myself at a picnic table with a few parents during my child’s end-of-year celebration. We chatted about how quickly the year had flown by, and the conversation naturally shifted to our summer plans.
“We’re signed up for soccer camps, a horse riding camp, and a family trip to the Grand Canyon,” one mom revealed.
“We’ve got art camp, gymnastics, swim lessons, and a week at sleepaway camp in July,” another chimed in.
When asked about our plans, I hesitated before replying, “Well, we’re embracing an ’80s summer this year,” with a mix of enthusiasm and anxiety.
Thanks to a combination of procrastination, budget constraints, and a bit of laziness, I had hardly planned any activities for my kids this summer. As May came and went without me booking the usual summer camps or lessons, I decided to adopt a more spontaneous approach. I envisioned a summer full of relaxed days where my kids could run wild, free from the structured schedules of modern parenting. No sunscreen to label, no camp T-shirts to buy, and no frantic dash to activities. We’d lounge around and savor every moment.
As a part-time working mother to an almost 9-year-old and a preschooler, I knew our summer would shift from a well-scheduled routine to nearly constant family time. What had I gotten myself into?
June rolled in, and we began our new, unstructured days. Twice a week, I taught classes while my kids enjoyed the recreation center’s childcare room. The rest of our time was ours to fill with swimming, movie outings, playdates, and leisurely mornings. It felt like a dream—no more scrambling to get everyone ready for school, and some mornings we didn’t even get out of bed until 8:30! My kids would head downstairs, grab their own breakfast, and turn on cartoons while I enjoyed coffee and a good book. Blissful, right?
However, as we settled into our summer routine, I couldn’t help but notice some differences compared to the carefree days of my own childhood. My summer was tinged with a new mix of guilt and anxiety.
While the neighborhood kids played outside, I found myself glued to my Adirondack chair, vigilant against any speeding cars. Gone were the days of children biking to the corner store for candy or disappearing into friends’ houses for hours. When my kids climbed on the playground, I was always nearby, battling the urge to hover while reminding myself not to be a “helicopter mom.” I worried about potential accidents, overindulgence, and even the thought of abductions.
When I did manage to sneak in some personal time—whether scrolling through my phone on a park bench or retreating to my office for a quick Netflix binge—I was hit with a wave of guilt. Shouldn’t I be building forts or baking muffins instead? It felt unfair to be enjoying a moment of solitude while they played alone. I wondered if I should be enriching their lives with more scheduled activities or if they were falling behind their peers.
One of my favorite books, “Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway” by Susan Jeffers, advocates recognizing your fears and pushing through them. I’ve adapted this notion to include guilt: feel it, and move on. So, I decided to fully embrace our version of an ’80s summer, albeit with a bit more supervision than I would have liked. We’d still enjoy the laid-back, free-spirited days I cherished as a child. Late mornings, spontaneous outings, and messy play would be our mantra, and I was determined to make lasting memories with my kids.
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In summary, as I navigated this unconventional summer, the struggle between guilt and freedom became clearer. It was an experience filled with ups and downs, but ultimately, it was about creating special moments together.