“So, what activities do you have lined up for the kids this summer?” my friend asked me recently.
“Actually, I didn’t enroll them in any,” I replied, feeling the weight of my choice settle on me like a heavy backpack.
She stared at me in disbelief. “Why on earth would you do that?” she exclaimed, appearing genuinely worried. It’s no secret that I work from home, and she understands how much I rely on those precious hours when the kids are away—hours that allow me to think clearly and engage with other adults who count on me.
“I’m not quite sure,” I said quickly, brushing aside my own doubts. “But I just have this strong feeling that we need this.”
This means letting them learn to simply head outside and play while I focus on work, without an endless schedule of camps, without screens, and without every moment meticulously planned.
This means allowing them to experience the kind of boredom that fuels creativity, awakening those imaginative minds that are often lulled to sleep by too much screen time.
This means embracing spontaneity during our summer days, such as deciding on a whim to pack some sandwiches and enjoy a picnic in the great outdoors.
This means stepping back and allowing them to create messes—building forts and engaging in art projects with an abundance of construction paper.
This means taking a leap of faith and hoping that by summer’s end, I will know my children a little better than I do now.
And if I’m honest, this feels a lot like the summer I experienced as a child.
During my childhood in the ’80s, I attended maybe one week of summer camp and spent the rest of my time figuring out how to create my own adventures. There were no nearby zoos, no “Learn to Ride a Bike” camps—I simply scraped my knees until I mastered riding a bike. My mother didn’t scour Pinterest for the latest “100 Activities for Kids” list; she went to work or indulged in her own interests like gardening or reading, often making me a lunch of canned sausages and Kool-Aid. I can confidently say she never stressed about my occasional boredom.
If I mentioned being bored, she would find me something to do, and I quickly learned to avoid that scenario.
My summers were filled with endless days of watching clouds, racing caterpillars, or attempting to befriend the chipmunks in my yard. I would feed them the dog’s food, learn to whistle with grass, and create intricate worlds in my backyard from whatever I could find. Our shed became a troll’s lair, the trees my castle, and the small hill in our front yard was the fairy borderlands.
My mom was often unaware of my escapades. While I recognize that such freedom may not always be practical today, I want to give my kids a taste of that same liberty. I want them to feel just a hint of fear at the thought of saying, “I’m bored,” just like I did. I want them to spend their days outside, inventing games and learning to embrace their own thoughts.
During the school year, we’re constantly on the move, shuttling between activities, and right now, I’m yearning to hit the pause button—even if it makes me anxious. I measured the kids against the wall today, their bodies stretching taller and my daughter’s gap-toothed smile beaming with pride at her growth. I felt a wave of nostalgia wash over me, wishing I could hold onto her baby days just a bit longer.
I’m unsure if this is the best decision I’ve ever made, but I know there will be moments of annoyance and that I’ll often find myself working late into the night to compensate for the time spent encouraging my kids to appreciate the beauty of boredom and to settle their disputes independently.
Maybe I’m a little crazy, but I’m committed to giving this a shot.
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Summary
This summer, I’ve decided to forgo structured activities for my children, allowing them the freedom to explore and create. Inspired by my own childhood, I believe that a schedule-free summer can foster creativity, independence, and deeper connections within our family. Though it may come with challenges, the potential benefits make it worth the risk.