During the last week of preschool, a friend of mine moaned over the idea that she now had so. many. weeks. at home with all of her three children. “What am I going to do?” she cried. “This is going to be horrible.” She was working overtime to find camps and classes and just something to keep them occupied.
Me, on the other hand? I about skipped through the school hallways on the last day. It’s summmmmmer! I squealed (in my head, of course. Sheesh) with glee. FREEEEEDOM!! Nowhere to go at a set time, no place to be if we didn’t want to, just weeks and weeks of playing in the yard, and splashing in the pool, and casual dinners under the umbrella and dirty feet and exhausted children and YES. IT WAS ALMOST HERE.
And then it came. And then this happened:
I swore to myself at the end of the school year that I was going to let my children be bored this summer. I wasn’t scheduling a lot of activities, I wasn’t turning on the TV. I was hiding the calendar, lathering on the sunscreen, and letting them go. Because you know how it is: when kids are bored, truly bored, well, that’s when they start having the most fun. That’s when the couch becomes a Matchbox car raceway, or a play is invented, or a new game involving a soccer ball and some bubble wands is contrived.
Granted, that’s also about the time I start extracting popsicle juice from a three-year-old’s curls and flushing sunblock out of a wailing child’s eyes.
Maybe my friend was right.
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