Thursday, August 1, 2013

Summer Days

Dear Scarlett,
It's August. 2013. I remember when I was a kid, it felt like summers lasted forever. Everything seemed to go more slowly then. Now I feel like I'm on some high speed train heading quickly for next year and beyond. Part of that has to do with being much busier than I was as a kid. I think a typical summer day back then involved a trip to the pool, Capture the Flag with my neighborhood friends, some lying around on the floor complaining about the heat, watermelon slices, and evenings on the porch marveling at how light and how hot it stayed, even past bedtime.

The agenda these days, while certainly not as crazy as it was when I was employed (and I don't mean by you), is pretty packed. I have volunteered to chair your school fundraiser, which takes place next March, but the work has begun. Dad and I are deep into project managing the house renovation. And I'm starting a website and blog to raise money and awareness for ALS. More on that when it launches. We're also working on fundraising for the Ride to Defeat ALS in Napa next month, and it's been going really well. The support from our friends and family, even those I haven't seen in years, has been phenomenal.

Your agenda is busy, too. Yesterday you had a swim lesson, summer camp, dentist appointment, and play date, after which you helped me make dinner. You're becoming quite the cook, and have begun to be more experimental with the foods you'll eat. We've started to have dinner together as a family, since you're now staying up a bit later. I love sitting with you and hearing some thoughts on your day, though Dad and I often learn more when we're not asking. Just before you drift off to sleep, you might tell me something about the day at camp. Recently you announced that all your friends had gotten married. You love to get married, which to you, just means putting on a ring. "I'm married to you, Mommy!" you'll exclaim. One day, Shishie pulled our her jewelry box and all three of us got married. Pretty exciting stuff.

On afternoons when we don't have plans, I love to hear you in your room acting out little scenes with your dolls and Legos, and just generally being creative. This usually lasts for a good 45 minutes before you're asking to listen to Big Audio Dynamite II on Rhapsody.

I wonder how the passage of time feels to you. It seems that you mostly live in the moment, focusing only on the things that are happening "right now." Do your days feel long? Is the summer passing languidly, like mine used to? Dad and I are trying not to over schedule you, but there are so many activities you seem interested in. You're taking dance and swim, and in the fall you'll be starting soccer. This weekend, you told me you'd like to start learning piano. You've said you miss tumbling. We certainly can't do it all (wouldn't that cut into your iPad time?) but we'll figure out a good balance, I'm sure.