Little Things

Summer used to be such a magical time. In some ways, it still is. But nothing can compare to summer when you are a child. Everything seemed magnified, fantastical, extraordinary, special.

Little things.

Like waking up at dawn, putting on my favorite swimsuit and counting down the minutes until the neighborhood pool opened.

Catching tadpoles in a jar at the creek and watching them grow into tiny miniature hopping frogs that would eventually hop out of our tiny fishbowl and disappear into the suburban wild.

Sitting out on the front patio with Dad listening to his stories while he grilled me a special burger, just for me.

Playing airplanes and horses in the yard with my older sister and younger brother, while my Mom sat outside with a neighbor and ate guacamole and chips. My baby sister crawling around at her feet.

Skateboard races with my best friend, Tony. Which almost always ended with his mom giving us Popsicles and him allowing me to watch him play Sonic the Hedgehog on his Nintendo.

Going to bed when it was still light out, knowing that on special nights, Mom and Dad would let us stay up until it got dark.

These days, summer looks a little different.

Lexi is the one who goes to bed when it's still light out, not me (unfortunately...).

Avocados are $2.49 EACH this season here in Chicago - even at the cheap stores. No guacamole and chips for me.

The pool is not quite the same when all the kids there have these shrill high pitched screams and the junior high girls look like super models and I look down at the stretch marks on my soft middle and realize that I am getting older by the day. I think I'll stick to the beach. (There are plenty of flabbier people with an unhealthy overdose of self confidence that inhabit the beach who tend to make me look really good in comparison... I did not just say that.)

I haven't been on a skateboard in at least 12 years.

I'll take soft serve ice cream over an artificially flavored Popsicle (made with 7 dyes and high fructose corn syrup) any day.

You have to pay me some big money to make me touch a frog these days.

My Dad still grills me a special burger when I am home, but somehow the physical distance of two countries makes the visits fewer and farther between. I never knew what it was like to miss someone until a country border line was stretched out between me and the people I know and love best in the world.

Things have changed.

I have my own family now. A husband. A daughter.

We are making our own adventures, our own memories, our own plans and dreams.

I have spent my summer blowing bubbles in the park with Lexi. Digging holes and building sand castles with her at the beach. Shopping for the perfect watermelon. Sitting in the grass and sharing long talks with Eric while he grills in the evening light. Laughing with friends and dreaming big together. Concerts in the Park downtown on a lawn so crowded with people that the outdoors feels claustrophobic. Late nights with no sign of stars, just the orange glow of city street lights and the blaring Mexican music at the birthday party next door. The savory smells of ethnic restaurants wafting onto the sidewalk during walks with Lexi. Dogs barking. Kids shouting in a plethora of languages and playing in the alleys and on the sidewalks and occasionally in the busy streets. Lexi learning to walk and then run, and learning to say a new word almost every day. Chatting with the neighbors in Spanish. Baking fresh bread for dinner. The smell of strawberries on Lexi's breath and berry juice trickling down her chin.

These things are summer now. The carefree days of imagination and discovery replaced by responsibility and a beautiful reality. Eric's smile. Lexi's giggles. New adventures.