When The Garden Hose is Glorified And The Berries Turn Black

When the heat counts to one hundred and two the math gets hot and sets the sidewalk on fire. The sun kisses the swimming pool, and the dog becomes a hero to the drowning tennis ball.

 Instead of complaining we sweat our sorrows away. We write love notes to Summer on our legs because we can’t find a paper but we do have a pen.

 When we draw on our faces in June, we don’t use washable markers. 
When we are nearly five, we won’t use training wheels, and when we are just three we will look at the ground while we ride and crash into trash cans.

When our mother takes us berry picking too many times, and we all smile when the cobbler comes out and the vanilla ice cream is on sale. We eat our dessert at night, in china bowls with mismatched spoons while the sprinklers kick on and spray withered plants. At night everything is refreshed, droplets of water on flowers and faces.

When it’s morning time we drink coffee with milk and watch Mister Rogers. We argue over  X because some of us think he’s an owl but we aren’t all convinced. When we wear pajamas and watch the baby squish banana on his head, it’s Summer time.

Everybody’s fancy, everybody’s fine. Pass the popsicles.

15 thoughts on “When The Garden Hose is Glorified And The Berries Turn Black

  1. Pass the popsicles, indeed. Or at least the berries. When I was young, my grandparents had raspberry bushes in their backyard, and I remember picking them every summer with my grandpa until they moved. Summertime is fresh raspberries and homemade ice cream.


  2. Yes and yes. When “math gets hot” around here, we throw the baby pool out and dump every bath toy we own into it. It's delightful. Mama gets an iced coffee and watches how happy neglected bath toys can make any aged child feel in that baby pool.


  3. Oh, this makes me yearn, yearn I tell you, for the sweetness of those lazy days of summer with my little chicks all around me and there was nothing better.

    On most days, I'm fine, actually really fine, that we are all growing up and away, but then something like your beautiful words here, strikes that deep maternal chord and I just want one day of that back.

    Sighhhh. My house is quiet today, telling the tale of children who are one foot out into their own world.

    Enjoy your beautiful moments, every blessed one.


  4. i am smack-dab in the center of LOVE with you and your sweaty summer life. no training wheels is AWESOME; high-five that kiddo from me. and seriously, trash cans should move.


  5. We made ink pen tattoos this week, too. And because I'm the only one who can write in English, they said MOM with a giant heart. That's my love letter to summer.


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