During story time last night with Ax I did that thing where I stop at certain words and point to them, to try to get him to read the occasional word on his own. “Just read it!” he yelped.
“Ok, ok,” I said. I realized I had been sneaking improvement-oriented activity into what traditionally is for us a nice, easy time. Me reading a bedtime story. That’s the gig. I read, he listens. It doesn’t have to be more edifying than that.
I know exactly what happened. One of the other moms said she has her kids doing schoolwork every afternoon after camp and I thought, “Oh crap, Ax hasn’t read anything, added or subtracted anything, or written anything since the last day of school. I am a bad mom. He will be an unemployable, illiterate homeless person if I don’t step it up.”
It goes the other way too: An older friend of mine told me his childhood summers involved running around outside with friends all day every day until dark when they’d be called home. Which does sound amazing. And totally unattainable where we live. So internally I wondered if we needed to move somewhere more rural, more small town, more cul de sac. We don’t.
Ax’s summer features a lot of cool summer camps. He did a science camp last week, a sports camp this week, and an art camp next week.
I have a spreadsheet to track his camp/play date/party schedule. We do have some open time for adventures just the two of us, or three of us when Mike can join, but a lot of his days will be with friends, outside, active.
I hope he looks back on this summer as a good one. I hope I do too. I’m gonna keep going.