The last day of school for the year, hooray!!!!!!
If I hadn’t remembered this (ha!) I would know by the fact that Flower Child woke up and got out of bed on her own this morning.
Summer to me means extra time with my kiddos, stepping off of the rush rush rush, beach bliss, and all the deliciousness of summer fruits.
Dark cherries, white cherries, fuzzy peaches, ripe mangoes, nectarines, watermelon! And papaya. Dear Husband, I don’t like papaya. I don’t care how ripe it is or isn’t, what how nicely you cut it, how perfect your batida came out. Papaya tastes like farts. Sorry.
The feel of the sun on my skin. The scent of cocoa butter. (Hey, I have dry skin, ok?) Flower Child’s glee on the beach, wind blowing, waves breaking, entrepreneurs with carts and Hefty bags plodding through the sand with an ocean wet towel draped over their head, “Cold Water HE-ah! ColdWater, ColdSoda, Cold Beeeer! If you don’t drink beer, you’re gonna die!”
Ok, there’s only one guy who says the last one, but it leaves a lasting impression, and you look for him if you haven’t packed enough drinks to last for the afternoon. Also true, I can’t remember the last time I drank a beer on the beach, probably before I had children. But still, it’s part of what comes to mind when I think summer beach day.
The city does tend to smell a whole lot worse in the heat. The temperature bakes into the concrete, mixes with old dog piss and rises up in waves that try to suck you down like a rip tide. Most buildings try to minimize this by hosing down the sidewalks at least once a day. If it weren’t for the filth factor, you could probably bake a brick oven pizza directly on the subway platform by the time we get to August. And while most of me loves the heat, in the past few years my nerves–literally–don’t. If I’m out walking when it’s hot I get this weird painful zinging buzzing down my arms and spine.
The best part of summer in the city is my neighborhood. Quiet. Half of it empties out, people take off for their country houses/beach houses. Sometimes my suburban friends will even come to visit me, there are parking spots to be found. Certainly quieter than my bedroom at this time of year. Our air conditioner doesn’t work well, and it isn’t properly set into the sleeve, so it sounds and feels like I’m trying to sleep on an airport tarmac.
Have to bring the girl to school. We should be on time, the day is only two and a half hours long for this last one. What does summer mean to you?