As a millennial mom, I want to give my son the kind of summer I had. I'm letting him be bored and am not planning structured activities.
Courtesy of the author
I had a mom-fail moment when I realized I hadn't registered my 4-year-old son for swimming lessons and summer camp before the cutoff. His day care closes for the summer, and while I will have some part-time care, I panicked thinking of the slew of unstructured days that lay ahead of us. I felt plagued with guilt that my son would be missing opportunities to develop core memories and critical skills, not to mention I'd have less free time to write and read through the ever-expanding stack of books on my bedside table.
But, the other weekend I watched as my son played in a make-believe construction site in our backyard with the boys who live next door. Without plans or devices, they passed the afternoon with ease — and I even sneaked in a few chapters of my book with an iced coffee in the sun. We had frozen pizza for dinner, and he went to sleep without a fight, tired after a long day of playing outside.
It made me nostalgic for the magic of 1990s summers and think that maybe millennials have it all wrong. Maybe it's not expensive vacations or a packed schedule of pricey day camps and Montessori-inspired programs that make a memorable summer. Perhaps it's taking a page out of our parents' books and making space for more by doing less.
After that perfect afternoon, I was inspired to give my son a taste of the kind of summers I had as a kid growing up in the '90s. If I let my mind wander back to those long, lazy, pre-internet days, summers were a time for riding bikes, sidewalk chalk, making daisy chains and friendship bracelets, running through the sprinkler, and existing on a diet of watermelon and popsicles.
The world looks a lot different now, but I'm planning on bringing this spirit to our summer by subscribing to these philosophies.
My TikTok algorithm serves me a daily stream of fun and educational activities to do at home with my son. Because I want the best for him (and because I really just want some silence), I have tried many of them.
I'm typically frustrated when the activity inevitably doesn't go as planned and takes up a meager five minutes before we're onto the next thing.
Instead of frantically trying to fill every minute, I am going to leave room for boredom. When I was a kid, it was during those long, boring summer afternoons that I formed my love of reading. I want my son to have the same opportunity to make fun out of nothing and let his imagination run wild.
While I'm not a screen-time stickler, I plan to turn off the TV this summer in favor of playing in the yard, walking to get ice cream, going for dips at the public pool, and spending the day at the beach. I yell less when I'm parenting outside, and the fresh air does wonders for my son's sleep and mood.
I will, however, not be denying evening screenings of '90s summer classics like "The Sandlot," "My Girl," and "Dazed and Confused" (when he's asleep, of course).
My parents didn't make me all organic meals in aesthetically pleasing bento boxes and I turned out just fine. Summer feels like the right time to loosen up and approach feeding my kid with a little more ease. That doesn't have to mean filling him with junk food, but I'll prioritize playing over making fussy dinners he probably won't eat anyway. We might eat cereal, PB&Js, or a bowl of cherries — it won't matter; he'll just remember the summer his mom let him drink from the hose, dig for worms, and play outside for what felt like forever.
Liz is a Canadian essayist who writes about motherhood and mental health. She lives in Vancouver with her husband and her son. More on lizjhammond.com and @lizz__hammond.
