Columnists
You Don’t Have to Shovel Sunshine
If summer, for me, could be summed-up into a sentence, or thirty, it would have to be something about having all of our children, their partners and their children here for a weekend. After a whole year, almost to the week, we finally have a weekend of kids, and their kids, visiting. All of the emotions happen in a weekend when the family is together. In spite of what we see online and in print, it’s never picture perfect. It’s never a glossy, magazine advertisement, or feature story written by an influencer in a straw hat, sporting a linen shift and teetering about in strappy sandals. Kids don’t stay clean. Ice cream melts. Dirt sticks to melted ice cream and smears onto shirts, faces and legs. Popsicles fall off the stick. Ants get to the mess before the kid does. Mosquitoes sting. Sunburns happen where the sunscreen didn’t. A summer weekend here is at least thirty pairs of flip-flops at each of the three doorways. A summer weekend here is a soggy load of beach towels on the line or hanging over the deck fence or languishing in damp lumps on the bathroom floor. A summer weekend here is someone shouting, “I’m going in the house! Does anyone need a snack or a drink, cuz I’m not going in again!” Or, “I thought we had more ice! Who put an empty ice cube tray back in the freezer?” And, “If you take a beer out of the cooler, you have to put another one in. That’s a bylaw, I think!” It’s the BBQ smoking away on the patio for the first time in months. It’s a mom, or a dad, shouting that a hat is necessary and, apparently, so is the sunscreen. Yep, chaos reigns supreme when the “gang’s all here”. Bad jokes. Guitars and ukuleles being strummed. Sunburned faces sipping iced tea around the table and late at night playing Cards Against Humanity Family Edition—letting the little ones win a hand, once in a while. It’s two and half days of breakfast, lunch, snacks and dinner sliding from one plate to the next. Everyone jockeying for the best spot at the picnic table and the little kids asking for there’s going to be a “S’mores Fire” tonight and someone grumbling about “Where are all the clean drinking glasses?”
Are we tired, this Sunday morning? You bet we are. Caffeine helps. Advil makes the caffeine more effective. A piece of chocolate binds it all together. Kids and their kids sleeping-in makes for a quiet break with the newspaper on the patio. But the weekend isn’t over just because it’s Sunday morning. Sunday morning is when we try to get the grandkids to eat breakfast before they hit the pool. With only two days of pool time, Sunday is the ultimate test of how long a kid can be in the pool before it’s time to pack the car and head back to the City, all the while insisting they don’t mind wearing a wet swimsuit in the car. While LOML and I aren’t getting any younger, the grandkids don’t see us as old farts. He and I are still actively involved in the summer shenanigans, we just take more beverage breaks than we used to do. Geritol and Tonic might be the new G & T. It’s a weekend of “Grandma and/or Grandpa, watch this.” It’s a weekend of two outfits, snuggly by-thefire clothes and bathing suits. The grandgirls are old enough to use the pool on their own, but it wouldn’t be the same unless LOML and I were “on deck” watching the Olympic dives, the full-body dunking, breath-holding and the inevitable belly-flops. We had one small bathing suit failure and the little guy had a “swim diaper” blow out. As it turned out, the little fishies on the diaper doesn’t mean it’s a “swim diaper”. Lesson learned, Grandma. The pool is currently home to three hundred and seventytwo pool noodles, six inflatable rings and floaties and there’s talk of hitting Giant Tiger for more toys. Apparently, the Backyard Armada will never be big enough.
As the daylight begins to fade and the temperature drops, ever so slightly, the house becomes a bit more quiet as the damp swimwear is, reluctantly, traded for dry shorts and clean shirts. Faces and hands are washed and the pool gate is locked for the final time this weekend. LOML and I smile at the exhausted bodies lying on the front room floor watching reruns of old adventure movies. Someone asks, “What’s for dinner?” Another wants to know if they’re coming back next weekend. It’s the perfect weekend coming to an end. I’m not sure if we’d be able to do this again next weekend, but we probably wouldn’t say no if they asked.
Be safe. Be kind. Enjoy the heat. Soon we’ll be pulling the woolies out of the closet and pining for the warm weather. You don’t have to shovel sunshine.
Comments (0)