As the school year came to a close, I found myself chatting with fellow parents around a picnic table at my son’s third-grade farewell party. We shared light banter about how quickly the year flew by before diving into summer plans.
“We’ve got soccer camps, horse riding, and a trip to Disneyland lined up,” one mom said.
“We’re off to art camp, gymnastics, and then a sleepaway camp for the Girl Scouts in August,” another chimed in.
Then someone turned to me, “What about you guys?”
“Well, we’re keeping it pretty chill this year. We’re having a 1980s summer,” I admitted, feeling a mix of pride and a tinge of panic.
In a blend of laziness, frugality, and a dash of apathy, I had arranged very few activities for my kids this summer. As May rolled around and I hadn’t jumped on the bandwagon to book summer camps or lessons, I thought we’d just “see how it goes.” This was a new philosophy for me, one that I usually don’t subscribe to, so I almost patted myself on the back for being so easygoing. I was embracing my inner Zen mom: a laid-back, Type B parent who allowed her kids to run barefoot through the sprinklers whenever they pleased. This summer would be free of sunscreen labels, camp T-shirts, and the stress of rushing to activities. We’d lounge around and savor every moment.
As a part-time working mom with a nearly 9-year-old and a preschooler, I was used to a structured school year filled with childcare. Once I declared our 1980s summer—no school, no camps—I realized I was swapping my precious “me time” for a summer of family togetherness. Gulp. What had I gotten myself into?
When June arrived, we kicked off our new routine. Two mornings a week, I taught classes, dragging my kids along to hang out in the childcare room. The rest of our time was free for adventure. We swam often, caught every $1 family movie, played with the neighbors, and enjoyed lazy mornings. In many ways, it felt heavenly. We no longer rushed to get dressed or eat breakfast before my work, and some mornings we didn’t get out of bed until 8:30! The kids would dash downstairs for prepackaged breakfast while I lounged in bed, sipping coffee and reading novels. Blissful, right? Well, almost.
As we floated through the first weeks of summer, I compared our routine to my own childhood summers. While there were similarities, I noticed a couple of glaring differences that screamed “not the 1980s.” Guilt and fear were my new companions.
When the neighborhood kids played outside, I was never just relaxing inside. My trusty Adirondack chair was stationed in the driveway, ready to yell “Car!” at any speeding vehicles. Gone were the carefree days of biking to the store for candy or simply enjoying the freedom of wandering off to a friend’s house.
Whenever my kids climbed the playground, I sat on the bench, trying not to hover while the words “helicopter mom” echoed in my mind. A crack in the pavement could lead to injury, too many ICIES might mean hyperactivity, and what if they wandered off and got abducted?
Even when I allowed myself a moment of peace—whether checking my phone at the park or sneaking off for a Netflix binge—I felt that familiar twinge of guilt. Shouldn’t I be building forts with them? Shouldn’t we be baking muffins instead of me scrolling through social media? It hardly felt fair for me to be doing yoga while they played upstairs with Legos.
What a tangled mess of emotions! If I managed to quiet my fears and let my kids roam a little more, the guilt of taking time for myself would quickly replace it. I bet my own mom sighed in relief when we wandered down the street to play at a friend’s house, rather than worrying about how she should be enriching our lives.
To some extent, I relish those rare moments of self-care, soaking up the joy of sunbathing or writing in peace. But that initial wave of guilt always hits: You’re supposed to be with them! What if they’re getting into something dangerous? Or worse: What if they miss out on the Spanish immersion camp or tennis lessons? What if they fall behind their peers?
One of my favorite books is by Susan Jeffers, titled Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway. She emphasizes that it’s not about eliminating fear but recognizing it and pressing on. I’ve adapted this philosophy to also include guilt: Feel the guilt and do it anyway. “It” means letting go just a little.
So, I’m embracing our version of an 1980s summer—albeit with less freedom than I’d like and more supervision than I’d prefer. But I’m determined to preserve that free-spirited, somewhat relaxed summer vibe I adored as a child. We’ll sleep in, waste time, embark on spontaneous outings, reconnect with friends, and get our hands dirty. We’ll make memories that last.
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In summary, while I aimed for a nostalgic, carefree summer reminiscent of the 1980s, I discovered that feelings of guilt and fear crept in, making it a unique experience. Still, I resolved to embrace the laid-back moments and let my kids enjoy this summer their way.