This was the summer that I took the whole family to Pittsburgh on a presstrip, and we had so much fun, visiting the National Aviary, the Carnegie Museum of Natural History, Kennywood Amusement Park, and a Pittsburgh Pirates ball game. It was the first time I took hubby on a presstrip and he managed to pick up some rare virus which infected his eyes.
This was the summer when my husband spent four weeks visiting with eye doctors and specialists, and lying in the dark unable to see. And despite the fact that this virus was supposedly incredibly contagious, some how the kids and I never caught it. This was the summer that we washed our hands forty times a day with antibacterial soap, and I was ever so happy to have that Lysol No-Touch system set up in the bathroom.
This was the summer when I mowed the lawn for the first time, ever, in my entire life. Hubby’s eyes were extremely photosensitive as they healed, aka sunlight hurt, any light hurt. So he lay in the dark listening to podcasts while I attempted to do the yard work. This is also the summer when the weeds ran rampant, and I cringed thinking how the neighbours must hate the sight of our yard. This was the summer when we didn’t even open the pool.
This was the summer where we went spent Canada Day in Amherstburg, and the girls ran and played and waved paper flags, alongside my friend’s daughters. Someone I’ve know since fifth grade. Our lives have been so different, yet here we are with two little girls each and their ages match. This is the summer we went on a playdate at the Hands On Museum in Ann Arbour.
This was the summer that we finished our second go through the Oz books and started reading about Laura Ingalls Wilder’s life in the Big Woods. This was the summer when my oldest child turned seven. It was the summer when she lost her first tooth, and her second. It was the summer when she put her heart into learning to cook, and spent many hours with me at the stove, following recipes and making up our own.
This was the summer when my youngest child was four, and she started to draw something more then scribbles. This was the year that my kids went through reams of paper, and most days there were half finished masterpieces and small scraps of carefully snipped paper littering the floor. This was the summer we went on pajama walks and had fish and chip picnics. This was the summer that we went to the waterfront and ate icecream.
This was the summer when I discovered I love Instagram. This was the summer when we went to the splash pad. This was the summer when we tried purple beans for the first time. This was the summer when I took my kids for long walks, sat on the floor and coloured with them and felt like I was the best mom ever.
This was the summer when my girls were inseparable, and played with each other from the moment they woke to the moment they went to sleep. This was the summer when they built with Legos nonstop, and the pieces somehow made their way into every nook and cranny of our house. This was the summer when they made elaborate puppet shows, and set up doll hospitals and store fronts. This was the summer when they ran from one end of the house to the other, and yelled at the tops of their lungs and argued over which Star Wars characters they were. This was the summer that they snuggled and hugged and loved one another, read books together, and took turns playing iPad games.
This was the summer that my kids kicked and fought and tried to kill one another, and drove me insane with their constant interruptions. This was the summer when the house was a mess, and my blog fell behind, and I missed deadlines and felt like everything was falling apart. This was the summer when I lost my mind, and screamed at my kids and felt like the worst mom ever.
This was the summer when my Dad would have turned 60, and we celebrated his birthday without him. This was the summer that Robin Williams committed suicide, and it seemed so sad and unfair and I wept. I don’t remember ever grieving over a celebrity before. His death came at the same time as my Dad’s birthday, and the two occurrences mixed together to leave me in a miserable heap.
This was the summer that my Mom sold her house and moved into a two bedroom condo. This was the year when she downsized and got rid of All Of The Things. This was the summer that my childhood arrived almost daily at my doorstep hidden in cardboard boxes. This was the summer that I helped run four yard sales in six weeks.
This was the summer when we added pills for cholesterol and pills for blood pressure to my husband’s daily routine. This was the summer that we talked about low cholesterol diets, and healthy choices. This was the summer when my husband was pale and grey and covered in cold sweats. This was the summer that he wore a heart monitor for two weeks, and I walked around with my own heart in my throat, sick with worry.
This was the summer when I mowed the grass for the second time ever, and discovered a wasps nest in our backyard. This was the summer that I learnt that lawn mowers make wasps angry, got swarmed and danced around the yard like a mad woman screaming and cussing and trying to shake wasps out of my clothes. This was the summer I got two dozen wasp stings, and was swollen and itchy and miserable.
This was the summer when I swore I would get the kids outside everyday, but then we spent dozens of days without ever leaving the house. This was the summer that I wish would never end. This was the summer that I couldn’t wait to be over. This was the summer when I was tired and grumpy and stressed and well loved and perfectly happy. This was our summer.