As the school year wrapped up, I found myself sitting at a picnic table with a few other parents during my daughter’s third-grade end-of-year celebration. We chatted about how quickly the year seemed to fly by before transitioning into the inevitable discussion about summer plans.
One mom excitedly announced, “We’ll be attending soccer camps, horse camp, and a trip to Disneyland!”
Another parent enthusiastically added, “We’re doing art camp, gymnastics, swim lessons, and a sleepaway Girl Scout camp in August!”
Curious, one of them turned to me and asked, “What about you?”
With a mix of pride and apprehension, I replied, “Well, we’re going for a 1980s summer this year.”
Yes, that’s right. Thanks to a hodgepodge of disorganization, frugality, and a hint of laziness, I had managed to schedule very few activities for my kids. As May rolled around and I didn’t dive into the chaos of securing summer camps or lessons, I decided to embrace a more relaxed approach. This was my chance to transform into a laid-back, Zen-like mom who let her kids run wild, barefoot and carefree. No more hurried mornings or sports T-shirts to buy; just pure, unadulterated summer leisure.
As a part-time working mother with an almost 9-year-old and a preschooler, I was accustomed to a structured school year filled with childcare options. But declaring a “1980s summer” meant trading in some “me time” for nearly continuous family bonding. What had I gotten myself into?
Once June set in, our new rhythm began. Twice a week, I taught classes, bringing my kids along to hang out in the recreation center’s childcare room. The rest of the time was ours to fill. We swam, watched dollar movies, played with neighbors, and enjoyed lazy mornings. It was blissful. No one rushed to get dressed or eat breakfast; sometimes we didn’t even get out of bed until 8:30. My kids would head straight downstairs to grab prepackaged breakfasts and turn on the TV (Mother of the Year, right?), while I lounged in bed with my coffee and a novel. It was almost idyllic—until it wasn’t.
As we meandered through the first few weeks of summer, I found myself comparing our routine with my own childhood summers. While there were some similarities, stark differences emerged, particularly in the form of guilt and anxiety.
When the neighbor kids played outside, I felt tethered to my Adirondack chair, ensuring that a speeding car wouldn’t zoom past without the warning shout of “Car!” Gone were the days of my childhood, where I’d bike to the store for candy or vanish into a friend’s house for hours of unmonitored fun.
Instead, I became the ever-watchful mom, sitting on the playground bench, forcing myself not to hover while repeating “helicopter mom” in my head. I worried about cracked pavement causing injuries or too many sugary treats leading to hyperactivity. And if I ever allowed myself a moment of respite—like scrolling through my phone at the park or retreating to my office for a Netflix binge—the guilt would hit hard. Shouldn’t I be building a fort out of couch cushions or baking muffins instead of hiding away?
This mix of guilt and fear was ridiculous and counterintuitive. My own mother must have breathed a sigh of relief whenever I drifted off to play with friends instead of worrying that she wasn’t enriching my life enough.
To a certain extent, I still relish any small moments of self-care, enjoying the rare occasion of sunbathing uninterrupted or working on a personal project. But it often comes with that familiar punch of guilt: “You’re supposed to be spending quality time with them right now!”
Inspired by Susan Jeffers’ book, Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway, I decided to adapt her wisdom to my situation: feel the guilt and do it anyway. So, I’m committing to our version of a 1980s summer—embracing a bit less independence and more supervision, but still preserving the unstructured, carefree spirit I cherished as a child. We will sleep in, waste time, spontaneously explore, reconnect with friends, and get messy. We will create lasting memories.
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In summary, as we embark on our laid-back summer, I’m learning to embrace the chaos, the guilt, and the joy that come with parenting, all while allowing my children the freedom to explore their world.
Keyphrase: 1980s summer parenting
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