I may be something of an anomaly, but summer has never been my favorite season of the year. Nope, not even as a kid. You know what I remember most about summertime as a kid? BOREDOM. And spray cheese. I remember being so bored that I ate lots and lots of spray cheese.
I’m a Type A personality who thoroughly appreciates the predictability that a good schedule brings. So as undeniably wonderful as that summer freedom is, it lacks the very thing I crave the most: order.
If I felt this way before I had kids, you can imagine the terror summertime brings now that I have a house full of children. Our boys are 9, 7, and 5 this year and if you’ve never been around 9, 7, and 5 year old boys then the one thing you need to know is they come with endless amounts of energy. And with it being summertime and all I HAVE NO WHERE TO SEND THEM.
My first instinct was to find a way to fill our calendar. To keep the boys busy and occupied and for the love of all things holy, SCHEDULED.
But something happened over the course of these last few weeks that caused me to second guess my approach to summer. It wasn’t just one single event that precipitated this change, but a series of small almost non-events that gave me insight into what my boys need most.