“Go outside and play until the sun goes down.” Those were my mom’s instructions for me and my siblings during summers in the 1980s and ’90s. Now that I’m a parent, I completely understand why she encouraged that.
Back then, we didn’t have the distractions of modern technology. Forget Snapchat or Fortnite; our entertainment was limited to three fuzzy TV channels and an original Nintendo with just two games: Mario Brothers and Duck Hunt. With three kids fighting over one wired controller, playtime was a rare commodity.
With limited electronic babysitting, my siblings and I had two options: stay indoors or head outside. And there was no way my mom was going to let us be couch potatoes for three months straight.
After breakfast, we’d eagerly rush outside to create mud pies beneath our treehouse, play with our dog, and ride our bikes. We’d gather dandelions, swing on the tire swing, and engage in epic stick battles. Living in the countryside, fifteen minutes from town, meant no cul-de-sacs filled with kids—just winding gravel roads, open fields, and endless sky. Occasionally, a neighbor kid would wander over for some fun.
While we played, my mom would chat with her stay-at-home mom friends on a corded phone, making lunch and tackling household chores. Sometimes she’d even find time to read. Meanwhile, my siblings and I were busy putting on plays and getting delightfully dirty.
On particularly sweltering days, my mom would set up the sprinkler, and we’d spend hours leaping through the cool spray, quenching our thirst directly from the stream. When storms rolled in and kept us indoors, we’d get creative—listening in on her phone calls or diving into imaginative games with Barbies, Batman, and Legos.
As the eldest, I’d run “Manners School” in the kitchen or pretend we were bartenders inspired by my dad’s favorite movie, serving up juice in gruff voices. Complaining about boredom was not an option. Doing so meant chores like washing dishes, sweeping the kitchen, or picking vegetables from the garden.
Now, as a mom of four, summer is approaching, and I’m determined to replicate that carefree childhood for my kids. There’s an overwhelming array of local summer camps and events, but I’m opting out. I have no desire to spend thousands for them to make glittery projects or perform in concerts. With four children at different ages, coordinating schedules would leave me shuttling around town in the sweltering heat with whiny kids.
Theme park trips, zoo visits, and museum outings? No thanks. I’d rather not deal with the heat, expenses, or crowds. Enrolling them in baseball is off the table too since they have little interest, and honestly, I’m looking forward to quiet evenings with Netflix and a glass of wine.
I’m reclaiming summer for my sanity and my children’s happiness. Just like my childhood, I envision lying in a lawn chair with a magazine while my kids enjoy an old-school sprinkler. When they get thirsty, they’ll have fruity popsicles on hand.
If they want to get creative, they can put on a concert in the basement using the Halloween costumes we have stored away. They can write plays, color in one of our many coloring books, or build epic structures with their Legos. We even have popsicle molds for them to experiment with and, let’s not forget, bubble fun!
I’m happy to help them bake cookies, swim, invite friends over, and catch fireflies as the sun sets. My husband will fire up the grill, and we can cozy up for popcorn movie nights. All those gifts that sat unopened during the school year? They’ll finally get the attention they deserve.
And let’s talk about the library—it’s like free shopping! My kids can select a stack of books and movies to keep them engaged for the week. Plus, those inexpensive kid movie sessions at local theaters are a fantastic option.
On stormy days or when the heat index is through the roof, they can binge-watch Family Matters or dive into Minecraft together. And if they dare complain about boredom, I have an endless list of chores waiting for them.
There are countless summer possibilities that don’t require a second mortgage or me becoming an exhausted, overheated mom eager for camp to end. I refuse to dread this summer. We want to build family memories, not get lost in a chaotic schedule that drains our energy.
Call me old-fashioned; I’ll take it as a compliment. What my childhood taught me is that there is magic in the everyday. Our 1980s summer will be a refreshing break from the norm, and I can’t wait.