Growing up in South Florida, summer breaks were a blur of pool days, sleepovers, mall trips, and a lot of sleeping in. My days fell into an easy rhythm: I’d roll out of bed around noon, toss on a swimsuit, grab a Diet Pepsi and a granola bar, then flop into a lounge chair by the pool. Afternoons were spent reading and swimming laps, and in the evening, I could be found on the phone or hanging out with friends until curfew.
I got my first part-time job the year I turned 16, and my schedule shifted around work hours. But I still slept in whenever I could and spent a ridiculous amount of time on the phone when I wasn’t working or practicing my driving.
I remember those summers as relaxed, carefree, and fun — three months of doing whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. My parents rolled their eyes when I was still in bed at lunchtime, but it was the 1980s — helicopter parenting wasn’t a thing. As long as I did my chores, I was golden. And so were my summers.
My kids are having a 1980s summer
We’re four weeks into summer break, and I’m happy to report my kids have settled into their own version of a 1980s summer. Some people call it “kid rot” — lounging around on screens, staying up until midnight, and generally doing a whole lot of nothing. But as an older mom, it feels just about perfect to me.
My kids aren’t attending camps or academic programs, and I have (almost) no guilt about letting them sleep in as late as they want. In fact, I want them to enjoy these long, lazy days with no agenda.
Soon enough, they’ll be headed back to school, to SATs and geometry class, to clubs, part-time jobs, and volunteer hours. After that, they’ll be off to college, jobs, and a busy life that leaves no room for weeks and weeks of downtime.
I know this time can’t last forever
Knowing these lazy days of summer can’t last is one reason they’re so special. As we get closer to the start of school, I’ll start nudging my sons to go to bed earlier and crack open the summer reading they’ve ignored since May. I’ll begin tugging gently on the loose boundaries that this season has allowed. They’ll push back — of course they will — and there will be late nights come September when they think they can stay up past midnight and still function at 7 a.m.
My kids will learn, like I did, that summer’s easy, breezy flow doesn’t carry over into the structure of a jam-packed school year. They’ll wistfully say, “I miss summer,” and I will silently agree as I send them off to school — backpacks full of books, folders, goals, dreams, and the first hints of their future just coming into view.
I’m trying to enjoy summer, too
My kids’ summers have always looked like this — relaxed days and mostly empty schedules, aside from the occasional beach or lake trip. I’ve spent years feeling vaguely guilty that I haven’t packed their break with classes and camps and educational field trips.
But then I remind myself that we live in a culture that glorifies being busy, where self-worth is often tied to paychecks and accomplishments. Even being truly at rest takes effort — rearranging personal and professional schedules and front-loading or back-loading work just to steal a few days of true downtime.
I think back to my younger self — happily sleeping in, reading for hours, or lounging by the pool with no goal beyond a Coppertone tan — and I wonder what changed. When did a four-day weekend start to feel decadent and undeserved? When did I start calling it a “vacation week” if I only put in 20 hours of freelance work and checked off a couple of big chores?
I’m trying to relearn how to relax while letting my kids do what still comes naturally to them. I’m less focused on preparing them for the “real world” than I am on giving them memories of a carefree summer spent resetting and refueling. This isn’t “rot” to me — it’s the kind of downtime that gives them space to think, dream, and even get bored. They need it — and I’m reminding myself, so do I.
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