What I Didn’t Do on my Summer Vacation

I say vacation, you say relax.  I say summer, you say swim.  

Now let’s try the other way:

You say vacation, I say: drive to camp #1, drop off kid #1, drive to camp #2, drop off kid #2, drive home, do the breakfast dishes, clog the sink, call the plumber, make the beds, water the plants, weed the vegetable garden, throw in some laundry, answer some emails, drive to the supermarket, wait for the plumber, put away groceries, grab some lunch, call the plumber, drive to camp #1, drive to camp # 2, drive home, get back-talk from exhausted kids, make dinner, eat dinner, do the dishes, get the kids to turn off the tv and wash up,  tuck them in, fold laundry, go to sleep.

In other words, you say summer, I say: Oy vey!

Silly Mommy!  Summer is for kids.

Every summer, I have grand visions (illusions?) of all of the things I’m going to accomplish.  I’m going to organize all of the recipes I’ve cut out of magazines.  I’m going to read a book a week.  I’m going to go to the gym every day.  I’m going to achieve a Zen calmness borne of proximity to the ocean, lazy days at the beach, and the effortless weight loss that results from eating fresh fruits and vegetables.  Instead, I spend my summers chauffeuring my kids around, taking care of a fifty year old house with a dubious electric system, cooking for all of the guests and extended family who show up to relax with me, and gaining weight from all of that entertaining .

And every summer, it really really bugs me.  But not this summer.  This summer, I’ve decided: my job is Mom.  Summer is for kids to have fun.  I have kids.  Therefore, my job is to make my kids’ summer fun.  Now before you all go commenting on how I have to have time for myself, blahblahblah – let me say:  I have three times gotten a babysitter and gone out with friends.  I do manage to get to Ride the Zone for spinning a minimum of twice of week.  And when my husband comes on the weekends, he deals with breakfast and lets me sleep in before we go to the beach, or visit with friends in the afternoon.  

My point is, when I stopped resenting that my summer wasn’t feeling all that much like a vacation, I started having a better summer.  All year long, my kids are in school all day, and a twice a week cleaning woman frees me up enough so that I can write, exercise, and still get most of my errands done. (Though the recipes will have to wait.) Summer is a chance for my children to run around like crazy, to play tennis, and learn to sail.  If that means I don’t get to lounge around the pool, well, too bad. 

If I’m subscribing to the belief that stay at home mom is my job, then summer is my busy season.  Without the NYC conveniences of a cadre of babysitters from Barnard to call on, or delivery of anything at anytime, or a superintendent downstairs, my job gets more demanding when I take my kids to the country for the summer.  But now that I’ve accepted that, like any job, parenting has it’s busy times of the year (start of school, holiday season, birthday party season, summer vacation)  I feel better about my choice to stay home with the kids and work only sporadically, when things magically fall from the sky and land in my lap.

I may not be “working,” but I am busy.  I am accomplishing something.  I am helping my kids create memories that they will carry with them forever.  I am making sure that their vegetable garden yields zucchini and string beans galore.  I am taking them out in the canoe.  I am, yes, driving them from here to there to another place and back again so that their summer will be fabulous.

So for me, summer isn’t about vacation, it’s about putting in extra hours roasting marshmallows, and pitching a tent in the back yard. (Yes, we are that much of a cliché.)  It’s hunkering down and working hard because my assistants (i.e. their father, and the cleaning woman) aren’t around.  Sure, I’m too busy for a lot the things I might want to do for me.  Sure my hair is rooty and, in the words of Samantha from Sex in the City, I have a little “situation” down-there.  But summer isn’t about me.  It’s about them. It's about my best and busiest mom-work of the year.

My only worry now is, what will I do next year when they go to sleepaway camp?

Original post to NYC Moms.