My fomo peaks this time of year, as the days get long and school lets out. I’ve always felt pressure to live my life during June, July and August like a Country Time Lemonade commercial, despite the fact that I don’t live in the country or have a lemon tree or particularly like jumping into water the bottom of which I can’t see, and despite the fact that I grouse at such naked corporate appeals to our communal nostalgia, and despite the fact that the little nitpicky fact-finder in my brain knows that summer, like every other season, has historically been a time of hard work for most people on the planet, not sepia-toned leisure. (The nitpicky fact-finder was pretty bummed to learn that the story about summer vacation being so kids could farm isn’t quite true…)
Being a parent has intensified the pressure of summer fomo — now I’m responsible not only for my own perfect summer, but my kid’s?
Well, no more. Just as I embrace the idea of the “good enough” mother, I am embracing the idea of the “good enough” summer. Rather than make a list of dozens of activities, trips, recipes, and games I have to organize, purchase or make, and execute so that my family can have a “good” summer, I’m slowing it way, way down… Here, if you care to see, is my summer-goals list of three.
