In the final week of school, a group of parents huddled around a picnic table during the third-grade end-of-year celebration. Our conversation began with reflections on how quickly the year had flown by, eventually shifting to our summer vacation plans.
One parent mentioned, “We’re signed up for soccer camps, horse camp, and a trip to Disneyland.” Another chimed in, sharing their schedule of art camp, gymnastics, and an August sleepaway Girl Scout camp. When asked about my plans, I replied, “We’re embracing an ’80s summer,” a statement that elicited mixed feelings of pride and uncertainty.
My decision was rooted in a blend of disorganization, frugality, and a desire for a more relaxed summer. As May approached and I failed to secure spots in popular day camps or lessons, I resolved to adopt a more spontaneous approach. This represented a departure from my usual meticulous planning. I envisioned a summer where my children could roam freely, enjoy the outdoors, and fully embrace the carefree spirit of childhood. No sunscreen labels or camp T-shirts would burden us—just unstructured time to bask in leisure.
As a part-time working mother to a nearly 9-year-old and a preschooler, I understood that my new plan would transition us from a structured school year filled with childcare to a summer of continuous family presence. The reality of this hit me as June rolled in. I began teaching a few classes two mornings a week, bringing my children along to the recreation center’s childcare room, while the remaining days were ours to fill.
Initially, our days were blissful. We swam often, enjoyed $1 family movies, and hung out with friends, allowing for leisurely mornings. There was a distinct absence of the hustle and bustle that typically accompanied my workdays, and I often found myself relishing the luxury of waking up late and sipping coffee while my children entertained themselves with cereal and television. It felt idyllic—at least for a while.
However, as the weeks progressed, I couldn’t help but compare our current summer routine with my own carefree childhood experiences. While there were similarities, I noticed significant distinctions, primarily the presence of guilt and anxiety. Unlike my childhood, where I would have been free to explore the neighborhood, I found myself hovering nearby, concerned about potential dangers. I was no longer the parent who could comfortably let my kids ride their bikes to the store or disappear into a friend’s house for hours.
When the children played at the park, I sat on a bench, reminding myself to resist the urge to hover. The thought of a fall resulting in injury or the consequences of too many sweet treats weighed heavily on my mind. Even when I attempted to take a moment for myself, guilt would quickly creep in. Wasn’t I supposed to be engaging in enriching activities with my children, like building forts or baking muffins?
This internal struggle highlighted a significant contradiction in my parenting approach. While I longed to foster independence in my children, I was equally overwhelmed by the guilt of taking time for myself. I found myself questioning whether they were missing out on opportunities to learn or grow.
One of my inspirations, Susan Jeffers, in her book Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway, teaches that fear is a natural response, and we should acknowledge it while still pushing forward. I adapted this concept to include guilt: feel it, but proceed regardless.
Thus, I resolved to embrace our version of an ’80s summer, albeit with a bit more supervision and anxiety than I would prefer. We would allow for a degree of freedom, while still fostering connections and creating lasting memories. Late mornings, spontaneous outings, and outdoor play would define our summer, and I would strive to balance my pursuit of self-care with the joy of being present for my children.
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In summary, my attempt to recreate an ’80s summer for my children highlighted the complexities of modern parenting, including guilt and anxiety, while also celebrating the beauty of unstructured time together.