the (actual) summer we should all strive for

not a 90's summer, not even a hobbit summer...

your secret sauce for summertime (not)

There. are. one. million. hot. takes. on. how. we. should. be. doing. summer.

This is another one.

Please, be long suffering for a moment because this is (maybe?) going to be worth your time. Or maybe it’ll give you a solid laugh and then you’ll go about your day, in which case, huzzah! I made you laugh! Either way, there is joy to be found in this particular hot take.

Likely you’ve seen the other articles, reels, and posts about the type of summer we should be having. There’s a strong case for the “90’s summer” which argues that we should live like we did in the 1990’s. So we ditch our cell phones, allow our kids to run wild through the neighborhood and ride bikes to their friend’s houses. We have lots of backyard bbq’s. We bust out the slip and slide. We embrace boredom. We eat our weight in popsicles.

I like this. It’s pure. But I also remember the 90’s and there was a decent amount of planning that still happened in order to be carefree. And it was, of course, directed by Mom. Mom bought those popsicles and kept them in stock so that no meltdown by any child of any age was had. Mom set up the slip and slide and had dish soap on hand because she knew in order to get the perfect ratio of slip to slide, water alone would not cut it. Mom made the potato salad and the icebox pies for the backyard bbq where Dad would look like a hero grilling burgers while she slathered us in sunscreen and kept the drinks refreshed.

Your mom gave you that 90’s summer with a decent amount of thought, sweat, and love. It’s a solid idea. But not the most practical or relaxing one (for mom).

There’s the hobbit summer as well. This one scratches all my aesthetic enneagram four itches as it entails wearing natural fiber dresses, baking pies, second breakfasting with friends, whatever the hell elevenses is, and local festivals with fireworks. In this variation we are all barefoot and smoking pipes on each other’s porches while talking about adventures but not actually going anywhere (unless you’re the son of a Took). There are wildflowers crammed in jam jars and picnics and naps in the sunshine and long conversations with wizards.

This sounds delightful. But my colon and pancreas are not made to endure hobbit meal routines. I don’t have the time to make my own linen dress and while I love having friends over for pie and picnics I also really appreciate a fast food run where I eat like a raccoon over the steering wheel by my own damn self. It’s aesthetic, aspirational, but there’s also a chance that you’ll be tasked to throw a demonic ring into the fires of Mordor and I don’t know about you but I already have enough demons to deal with. I do not want to take on another, no thank you sir.

Which leads me to the solution…

he has his own special order and looks for his favorite baristas at our local coffee shop. he walks in with skinned knees and eyes on the cookies. he is the boy of summertime.

five year old boy summer

I truly believe that this is the best of every world. A five year old boy¹ does not think about what his thighs look like in shorts. He does not even know if he has underwear on most of the time. He eats breakfast like a house cat, roaming from dining table to LEGOs to treehouse, surveying what this day, this perfect, warm day can give him.

He knows the day is a gift and he does not have to say it is because he lives the gift. He is in the gift. He is the gift.

A five year old boy summer looks like staying in pajamas until it no longer suits his needs. This boy climbs trees barefoot (because he can) and makes mud pies because the feel of mud between his fingers brings him joy. Is there a sensory activity as wonderful as the mud pie bakery? I submit to you that there is not.

Five year old boys skip meals because play is too important only for their next meal to be eaten like a man freshly out of prison. They get up early, stay up late, and live to play with another kid’s toys at another kid’s house for just “five more minutes”.

They collapse in a heap of giggles because someone just shouted PENIS and, just in case you have forgotten, they are the funniest kids in the world. Every day is a good day to run through a sprinkler. Every day is a great day to look for animals in the clouds. Every day is a good day.

the formula for five year old boy summer

Now I realize what I’ve done. I’ve created a summer that adults can’t actually attain and many would not even aspire to.

I like clean underwear and eating at normal hours. I prefer shoes over bare feet and I feel utterly disgusted when I get mud up my fingernails.

But there is something almost esoteric to grabbing the day by the balls like a five year old boy in summertime.

For example, my son has a neighbor friend two houses down that is the same age as him. Today, these two buddies have been inseparable, running back and forth between our two homes. Their conversations are full of joy and wonder.

Hey, do you wanna see my Chewbacca LEGO?
Yeah! WOW! That’s so cool.
Thanks. I got him for Christmas—you have cool LEGOs too.
I know. Wanna play pirates?
YEAH!
Arrrrgh! Get to the ship! There are sharks in the water!
Oh no, I fell in! A shark is biting my arm off!
Don’t worry I’ll save you!

And on it goes. They eat dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets and switch into swim clothes to go in splash the blow up pool behind his house. They stop to look at bugs, they ask for their water bottles to be filled back up, their nonchalance is intoxicating and I am behind every corner eavesdropping on their play so that I can learn how I might now live.

So is there a formula that adults in a politicized, overly analyzed, jaded world can work out? What exactly is living a five year old boy summer?

They scream when they find a cool bug and we can find explicit joy in the growing of a favorite summertime plant. They frolic barefoot everywhere they go and we too can walk in the cool of the morning shoeless, grass between our toes. They attempt to be naked as often as possible and maybe we can care less about what we’re wearing (just this morning I watered my front yard garden in my pajamas braless for all of creation to see). They climb trees with a sandwich in hand and we can eat sandwiches al fresco and pretend we’re in the Italian countryside. We can pick up a new hobby, we can yell salutations at our neighbors across the street. We can buy last minute movie tickets and walk around the block with an open container and go to bed much too late. We can skip wearing sunscreen (from time to time—don’t get crazy).

We can take ourselves less seriously.

Sometimes this looks like reading a fat novel with a chilled glass of pinot gris on the front porch and sometimes it’s a slippery bowl of popcorn and a favorite show. It’s a summer of unpretentiousness and experimentation. Want to go bouldering with another mom friend from your kid’s soccer league? Yes. Want to paint your toenails canary yellow because it makes you happy? Yes. Want to eat pasta from scratch one night and hot dogs the next? Hells yes.

Maybe five year old boys are the best improv comics out there, forever saying “yes, and…” with arms (and mouths) wide open. Because they think that summer will last forever (it won’t) and that they are ten foot tall and bullet proof (they aren’t) and why not live like it?

And why not? That’s how I want to be.

More “yes, and”. More not taking myself seriously. More trying new things for the sake of trying. More living in the bubble that is a child’s summer. More eternity in our hearts.

Always,
Emily

P.S. Tonight I saw the heads of zinnias pop out of the dirt and did a happy dance in my front yard. More of that.

1. Yes, of course, there are little girls that rock out just the same as boys do, but for the sake of a streamlined argument (and a very clear mental image), I’m sticking with one gender.