Every summer has a story. I found this image last year and instantly fell in love with it because, well…it just GOT me. Summer has always been my favorite season, and almost all of my big, wonderful, larger than life memories happened in summer. So when this week’s Mama Kat Writing Workshop prompt was, “Is summer time yet? Dig into your archives and share some favorite summer moments you’d like to relive“, I was happy to oblige.
When I was a child and a teenager, summers meant spending time with my best friend, who lived a couple states away from me. We spent a week at my house, a week at her house, a week or two at the beach. We got into epic scrapes (like the time we got ourselves locked out of the beach house on her father and stepmother’s anniversary…all day…in the rain), stayed up far past our school year bedtimes, and slept in until noon before waking up to breakfast on cookie dough and read Teen Bop magazines (we also got into trouble for this). These are some of my sweetest summer memories.
Exciting things happened in childhood summers, like trips up north to visit my family in Boston, where I discovered Harvard Square and the North End. Every summer brought a new Girl Scout camp–some summers I repelled down mountains and went whitewater rafting, while another summer brought me to New York City with girls from all over the country.
I was 13 when the Olympics came to Atlanta, which was a 1.5 hour drive and a lifetime away from the North Georgia town I grew up in. My father took me downtown two days before the games started. We took a steep escalator up to the street from the Marta station (Atlanta’s public transportation) and I was suddenly surrounded by tall buildings and busy sidewalks full of people from all over the world. We ate lunch at Planet Hollywood, had milkshakes at Hard Rock Cafe, and walked through the brand new Centennial Olympic Park. That was the day that started my love affair with the city.
My summers as a college student were typical–I worked as a day camp director and a nanny, so my summer rhythms didn’t change much, only now I was in charge. Days off were even sweeter in the summer–lounging at the pool, going to concerts downtown, still staying up way past my bedtime. There is just something about summer that makes it hard to go to bed on time.
I got married in the summer, on a hot day in late June. I had so much hairspray in my hair that it took me days to wash it out, but my curls held in the Florida humidity. I still can’t smell Bumble & Bumble long-last hairspray without thinking of my wedding day.
My son was born in the summer. We broke heat records that year, and I waddled around in a constant state of sweat and swell until a stunningly hot day in July when he made his entrance. The remainder of that particular summer is a blur, and when I finally pulled myself from the new mother haze, back-to-school commercials were on.
And now that I am a stay-at-home mom to a preschooler, the magic of summer is back in full force. This summer is shaping up to be sensational: we’re kicking it off with a weeklong trip to the beach, leaving our apartment for a house (with a yard, joy of joys!), celebrating JC’s 5th birthday, and my first book is set to be published sometime this summer. I know all those things will be awesome, but I also know that the story of this summer won’t be written by the big events. It will be in the tiny moments: the lightning bugs, the sand between our toes, the picnic lunches, late nights with old friends, and the magic that can only be found in the warmth of the summer air.
What is your summer story?