Summer feels like summer again

It's a fun season with little kids. It may be even more fun without them.

Summer Kate at age 2 at the Lake of the Ozarkds in Missouri.

Summer is a strange season. Especially as an adult. I still remember when I first realized this. It was 1995 and I was working at a small book publisher. My then-boyfriend (now husband) was in law school and we were having a coffee date at Barnes & Noble (which was a very extravagant thing for us to do in those days). We ran into one of his classmates who, in an attempt to make conversation with me, asked: “What are you up to this summer?”

“What are your parents up to this summer?” My boyfriend asked, taking a small dig at the guy. His point was that I was an adult, that my summer would not be very different from my fall, winter or spring. That, like this guy’s parents, I would spend summer doing adult things, which meant I would spend the summer working. And that’s how every summer would go for the rest of my life.

It was a bit like this:

@cbcgemoffice jobs typically don't have summer vacation 🫠 (📺: Baroness von Sketch Show) #baronessvonsketch #bvss

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“You work through summer?” the young woman asks, incredulously. “What are you supposed to look forward to?”

I am not a good planner. This surprises people who know me — and my Type A personality — but it’s true. That said, summer lights a fire under my ass. I know the season is finite and I find anticipatory regret a very strong motivator. I know that if I don’t make the most of rooftop cocktails/sandwiches on the beach/ air-dry your hair and just-throw-on-a-sundress season, I’ll kick myself.

So Summer Kate is chiller, more flexible and somehow gets by on less sleep. Summer Kate travels more and sleeps less. In summer, she sees what writer Haley Nahman calls “the thin divide between yourself and several possibilities.” But the thinner that divide, the more pressure I feel.

If I run into someone during this sunny season they inevitably ask, “How’s your summer going?” I do it, too. (It’s interesting: we don’t ask this question about the other seasons, do we? I don’t think so. “How’s your winter going?” sounds foreign to me, so I think I’m right.)

How we describe our summer probably says a lot about us and what stage of life we’re in. For the past two and a half decades, I’ve mostly answered that question by describing what my kids are up to: a litany of summer camps, adventurous day trips, visits with faraway family and — depending on their age — part-time seasonal employment).

I made it sound simple, smooth. But tor the past two and a half decades, summer planning has given me night sweats. I’ve set alarms to remind myself to be online to register for a particularly popular sleepaway camp. I’ve juggled day camp drop-offs and pick-ups, balancing them with pool parties and sleepovers. I’ve fretted about achieving the perfect balance between enriching activities and intentional downtime. I’ve given kids just enough days to recover from the rigors of the previous school year before starting to ride them about their summer reading and math packet. And as they got older, I hounded them about getting a summer job (and once they secured it, about getting CPR/SafeSport/belay certified before said job started!).

But this year already feels different. It’s my first summer as an empty nester and I’m shocked at how selfish I can be. I work out when I want (sometimes twice in one day!). I cook what I want (which usually means not cooking at all). I make impromptu decisions and last-minute plans (mostly because, as I’ve said, I’m a poor planner — but spontaneity is spontaneity, people.)

Like the woman in the “Baroness Von Sketch” bit says, we all need something to look forward to. And while the summers of empty nest adulthood aren’t quite as magical as the summers of childhood, I can tell those of you who aren’t there yet, that empty nest summers are pretty great. It’s only late June and so far I’ve had all kinds of fun adventures ( I’m not going to get more specific than that in case you’re still struggling to figure out summer childcare).

Have I come full circle? Is summer once again a carefree season — or at least a care-a-little-bit less season? I think so.

Sure, there’s still work. And the house chores. And life admin. And other obligations. But even those things feel different during an empty nest summer. That guy we ran into at Barnes & Noble in 1995 didn’t know this — and neither did we — but his empty-nest parents were probably having a lot of fun.

I spotted my first fireflies of the season in our backyard the other night. I paused for a moment, realizing that there was no one else at home to tell. No kids to grab the mason jars we’d saved just for this occasion. No big brother to show the younger siblings how to catch them and how — eventually — to let them go.

It took my breath away for a second — how different things are. I sat and watched for a while and realized I’m loving this new season.

Stay cool out there,

Summer stories

In lieu of a “10 things,” this week I’m sharing other stories I’ve written about summer and summer-adjacent things (like how to pack for vacation).