Recently, a friend asked me, “What camps are your kids enrolled in this summer?” To her surprise, I replied, “Actually, we’re not doing any.” The weight of my choice felt heavy, much like an elephant’s foot pressing down on me. Her reaction was one of shock—“Why would you do that?” she exclaimed, perhaps even shaking me in disbelief. As someone who works from home, she understands how crucial those hours without the kids are for my sanity and productivity.
“I’m not entirely sure,” I admitted, brushing aside the rising anxiety bubbling in me, “but I genuinely believe we need this.”
This summer, I envision my children learning to simply enjoy the outdoors while I work—without a packed schedule of camps or screens consuming their days. I want them to experience boredom so they can tap into their creativity that often lies dormant beneath layers of screen time. I’m looking forward to spontaneous picnics, where we can throw sandwiches into a cooler and head off to explore. I want to let them unleash their imagination, even if it means the house turns into a chaotic playground filled with blanket forts and art projects. I’m hoping that, by the end of the summer, I’ll understand my kids a bit more than I do now.
In all honesty, I’m yearning for a taste of the freedom I had as a child. Growing up in the ’80s, my summers consisted of one week at Girl Scout camp, while the rest was spent creating my own memories. We didn’t have nearby zoos or specialized camps. I learned to ride my bike through trial and error, scraping my knees along the way. My mother didn’t stress over Pinterest-perfect summer plans; she worked or pursued her hobbies, all while I navigated my own adventures. If I ever complained of boredom, I knew she’d find me something to do—and I didn’t want that.
My summers were filled with imaginative play—racing caterpillars, lying on the grass watching clouds, or launching down dirt hills on my bike. I befriended local chipmunks with dog food, learned to whistle with grass blades, and crafted entire worlds with whatever I could find in my backyard. My mother had little idea of what I was up to, yet I thrived in that freedom.
While I recognize that today’s landscape is different, I want my kids to experience a hint of the unstructured joy I had. I want them to hesitate before saying, “I’m bored,” and instead spend hours crafting their own games or simply enjoying their thoughts. Our lives during the school year are often a whirlwind of activities, and right now, I crave the pause button—even if it makes me anxious.
Today, I measured the kids against the wall, marveling at how they’ve grown. My daughter, with her toothy grin, looked thrilled to be taller, and I found myself wishing I could curl up with her baby clothes and weep. The rate of their growth is astounding.
I’m aware that my plan might not be the most genius idea, but I’m prepared for the inevitable annoyance among us. I’ll likely find myself working late to compensate for the time spent encouraging my kids to relish the beauty of boredom—and reminding them to stop squabbling and just go play. Maybe I’m a bit crazy, but I’m committed to this journey.
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Summary
This article explores the decision to have a schedule-free summer, emphasizing the importance of unstructured play and creativity for children. The author reflects on her own childhood experiences and the desire to foster similar freedom for her kids today.
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