We had our first barbeque last weekend complete with Blue Moon, Lays Potato chips, and finger jello; hot dogs over charcoal and learning how to swing at a baseball.
I grabbed a couple pickles, you know the kind, from a jar on the counter. The $1 pickles from childhood? We’re never out of them, they’re that important, and it got me thinking: I love having vintage kids.
I love ensuring that the moments I cherished most as a child are alive and well in their own childhood. Trips to the mercantile before the beach to grab a pickle and a new bucket/shovel. A new kite every spring, bubbles to let go of during the breeze.
I love that even though the rest of the world can’t stop spinning and moving forward at the speed of light, that my kids force me to stop and watch.
That digging in the dirt and rolling down hills has more weight on their world than a new app, a video game; that a virtual world doesn’t have their claws so sunk into them that they can hardly see the stars.
I had a pretty simple child hood, always outside – always imagining my world on my own terms. It lasted well into middle school before I realized that my friends (or in order to make friends) I’d have to start caring about the things of this new, unseen world before me. The world of fashion, body image, boys.
I’m just glad that we can still take this slow.
That we can’t still celebrate the warm days with ice cream and gummy bears, bike rides and trips to the sandy beaches of Lake Michigan, root-beer floats and flip flops.
This is going to be a great season.