These are the Good Old Days

Is it possible to be nostalgic for a time that hasn't yet passed? Because I think I am already nostalgic for summer 2010.

Today, for example. Today I woke up to a little blonde girl in my face, telling me her dreams and asking for oatmeal. I showered. I made coffee, made oatmeal, started the dishwasher, then sat on the kitchen floor while both girls took turns leaving their breakfast to crawl all over my legs and cuddle. I put my bathing suit on, first thing, right under my clothes.

I dropped the girls off at gymnastics, got groceries, came home to put them away. I started laundry, edited an article, packed lunch to bring to the pool. I went to the pool when it opened and spent 45 glorious minutes sitting in the grown-up section in the sunshine, reading my book and drinking a venti iced tea lemonade that I didn't have to share with anyone.

I picked the girls up from gymnastics and went straight back to the pool. We ate lunch sitting on towels on the pool deck. Annie did a million somersaults. Jemma was brave and got her new boo-boo wet. We ran out of sunscreen for about the fifth time this summer. We sat and talked to friends.

We came home. The girls had quiet time and I folded laundry and marinated the flank steak. When they got up, we had snacks, watched a show, watered the garden, picked peas and tomatoes, and drew all over the sidewalk with chalk.

Jason came home and grilled the steak while I picked up our CSA share, then we all ate together, the girls mowing on ears of corn dripping with butter and salt. We walked to town and got shakes, then took them to the concert in the park. The girls found their friends and danced near the stage with the lake behind us. They went together to get balloons while we just watched from afar. We walked home, me still wearing my bathing suit under my clothes, for baths and bedtime stories. I rode my bike around the lake twice and ran a little afterwards, planned meals for our weekend camping trip, put laundry away, showered again.

Just now, the sun has set and I can hear the crickets chirping outside the living room window. There is peach-blueberry crisp on my kitchen counter. Bathing suits hang from the chairs in the kitchen and from the bathroom doorknob. There are check-marks next to at least three-quarters of the things on our summer list, and I think we'll check off "go camping," "go hiking," and "catch fireflies" this weekend.

I don't want summer 2010 to end.