I feel myself slipping into summer, where there is no routine or schedule; where there is always something to do; where people get together more. Suddenly 9pm is time to walk the dogs and tidy up the house instead of prepare for bed. The lingering light of day beckons me to stay up later and when I rise, it’s easier because it’s already light out.
June has been full. And it’s not over yet.
Birthdays, Father’s Day, Anniversaries.
Camping trips, Sibling reunion weekends, Mexican nights out and plays.
Each year after we check off as many winter projects as we can, and each year after we check off as many spring cleaning items as we can, comes summer. When we let everything go. Projects come to a screeching halt; cleaning gets pushed to the sidelines and squeezed in only when necessary. We spend our time and energy between weekday adventures and weekend travels, between the garage and the garden, between the neighborhood walk and the front porch.
And each year when I feel this pinch for more time, I try to remind myself that time is about choices. Choosing to walk the dogs with J instead of sweep up the hair that isn’t going anywhere because it is the eve of our 3 year anniversary and a walk would be nice, for dogs and humans. Choosing to see a cousins play with family instead of stay home because we’ve been gone every night this week, because she is Tinker Bell after all and on the drive home, the sun will set right when we get home. Choosing to drive North for some bar food on Mexican night because the rest of my sisters will be there, and my parents, and plenty of other people who drive weekly for the good food. Choosing to give up time for the summer. Or rather the tracking of time. To just let it be full. Perhaps winter is meant to empty us, spring is meant to give us hope, and summer? Summer is when things grow, but only if you let them.