Growing up, summer was always my favorite season. I lived for beach days, ice cream sundaes, family cookouts, fireworks, and sitting in the sunshine with a good book. I waited all winter for the way the warm breeze would lift my hair gently off my shoulders on the beach and the way the sun felt on my skin. I’d wake up with the sun every morning, and I’d spend every second I could outside. And I passionately hated winter. I felt so trapped inside by the cold, and the snow, while beautiful the first 5 seconds it fell, quickly became gray and dreary. I’d watch TV shows and movies set in warm climates (Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and Psych were some of my favorites) and dream of escaping New England the second I could. My plan was to go to college in California, and nothing was going to stop me.
But a few things came up during my senior year of high school that kept me close to home. First, I learned that I couldn’t just take out a loan for exorbitant tuition without a co-signer. My pragmatic parents were not going to co-sign any loan for me to travel 3,000 miles back and forth every time I wanted to come home, plus they didn’t like the idea that it would take a flight to reach me if there was an emergency. Also, since I’d never actually been to California, I was basing my entire perception of the state based on a series of Google searches I considered to be meticulous research and the way it looked in my favorite TV shows. The O.C. had a profound influence on me in 8th grade. I wanted to be Kirsten Cohen when I grew up.
As a teenager, I was outraged at my parents’ lack of compassion. I couldn’t live in the snow anymore! How could they trap me like this?! As an adult, I respect their logic and practicality. As a parent, I know there is no way in hell I’d sign that loan for Emily. I especially understand where they were coming from because right before my senior year, I started experiencing the physical effects of my anxiety for the first time, and I was so sick for months that all I ate was bread. It took both parents an entire summer to help me work through the anxiety, and as angry as I was to be “trapped” within driving distance, I knew deep down that there would be some weekends I would need to come home and regroup. I was given a 3 hour maximum distance from home, and I picked a small liberal arts college in suburban Connecticut 2 hours and 57 minutes from my front door.
I was dreading the first winter of college. The highlight of my winters at home was snuggling with my cat and reading, but I couldn’t do that at school. How was I possibly going to keep myself occupied when what I now understood to be Seasonal Affect Disorder took hold? And yet, that first winter of college was one of the best times of my life so far. We stole cafeteria trays to go sledding down the hill by the library the last night before Christmas break. My new friends and I watched movies and baked cookies on snow days and weekends. We got dressed up for beach-themed parties in our dorm in the middle of February. Winter was actually fun! I still didn’t necessarily like it, but I had accepted it on some level. I could definitely appreciate its beauty.
My love of summer continued through graduate school and my first few years as a teacher. In therapeutic special education schools, there is minimal break time over the summer, so I made the most if it at work. I took my kids on outdoor field trips every Friday, we cooked summery foods, studied summery topics, ran experiments outdoors, ate lunch at picnic tables, and took extra long recreation times. I spent my weekends on the beach, at outdoor restaurants, and in parks. The idea of wasting a minute indoors on a hot, humid day was not an option for me, or by default, Andrew, so we were up and out by 8AM every non-work day.
Then I got pregnant. And suddenly, summer replaced winter as my nemesis. My second trimester spanned most of the summer, so I wasn’t very pregnant, but I was miserable. Long walks in the sun made me hot, I got dizzy during workouts even with the AC blasting in my apartment. I sweat through my clothes constantly. I couldn’t be in the sun too long for fear I would literally melt. I felt trapped indoors, the same way I always did during the winter. Only somehow this was worse. The sun was shining, the sky was a perfect blue, but I couldn’t go out and enjoy it. I assumed it would only last that one summer, but now, it seems as though being pregnant permanently changed my body’s heat tolerance. I can’t stay outside on hot, humid days like I used to because they quickly feel oppressive. Emily can’t handle the heat well either, so I’m finding myself stuck inside more and more, missing the long walks we took every morning and evening during the spring.
As steamy July became sultry August, I found myself wishing more and more for fall. Even though we’ll likely still be in the midst of quarantine, fall in New England is nothing short of magical. September brings perfect blue skies with breezy days and cool nights perfect for bonfires and apple cider. Apples are everywhere -in pies and crisps, in perfect rows in the grocery store, in my lunch every day, and in orchards just waiting to be picked. Apple picking each year is not complete without a cool glass of apple cider and a warm cider donut fresh out of the oven. Summer dresses and sandals are packed away in favor of plaid, vests, cute new jackets, and comfy boots. It’s the only time of year I don’t wear my Lilly, choosing instead to revel in burgundy, hunter green, and charcoal gray, and of course, so much plaid. And comfy slippers and blanket scarves! There is nothing cozier than literally wearing a blanket.
There’s music that is most appropriate in fall, things like Monsters and Men and Phillip Philllips, music that always feels a bit transitional to me. It’s the kind of music that makes me feel as if there are endless possibilities ahead. And it always makes me think of those early weeks each year of college when my best friend and I would head into the local town center for coffee and browsing through Borders, taking in the fall leaves and beautiful trees. Or the parents’ weekends, when my parents and I would go explore my school and the surrounding towns and I’d be able to share all of the bakeries, restaurants, parks, and beaches I’d discovered with them.
As a teacher, September has special significance. It’s the start of a new year, and for me, it’s like Christmas, Halloween, and my birthday all rolled into one. I get so excited when I see the rows and rows of new school supplies in Target and Walmart every year. I adore decorating my classroom with fresh signs and posters, restocking the organization station for my students (pencils get lost like hair ties), and buying a new pack of my favorite InkJoy pens. I love rearranging my little trinkets and most special photos on my desk, hanging new calendars on the bulletin board, and most of all, I’m obsessed with choosing and setting up my new planner. I always order a custom-made 8.5x11” planner from #PlumPaper for 2 reasons: they have the vertical layout I like (days of the week at the top, classes going down), and you can customize the front of the planner with the print and photo of your choice. Because the planner only allows 1 photo, I used my Layout app to create 9 separate photo collages of Emily that then morphed into one super collage. I am so excited to look at 81 photos of my little nugget throughout all of the chaos this year is certain to bring. Then there’s all of the September traditions, like Teacher Training Days (which I actually really love because they’re motivating and it’s fun to see everyone after a summer away), Homecoming, Pep Rallies, and so much more. Then there are the little things, like the golden way the sun cuts through my classroom in the mornings, or the first day it’s cool enough to drink steaming tea behind my desk out of my favorite travel mug.
October is when things truly become perfect. I love the crisp, sunny days when five mile walks through parks full of changing trees are the only possible way to spend an afternoon. The leaves are so bright against the blue sky, the grass has become green again, and there is color everywhere. The orange leaves are my favorite, they just have a certain glow the others don’t share. Apple gives way to pumpkin and butternut squash, and I survive mostly on pumpkin chocolate chip bread, pumpkin spice lattes, and literally anything butternut squash flavored. The days are shorter, but it’s fine because they are perfect. Even the blustery, rainy days have a certain excitement about them, and in non-quarantine times, they are the perfect day to visit a bookstore and read a crisp new book with a latte and a cup of autumn squash soup with crusty French bread on the side. And Halloween! Endless access to candy (both a good thing and a bad thing), adorable children in costumes, creative parties with spooky-themed drinks, desserts, and games, and this year, Emily will get to dress up. Last year, I wore massive “Mama Bear” pajamas complete with ears for the entire day, including work, and handed out candy to our new neighbors. This year, I doubt we’ll be able to go trick-or-treating, but she will look adorable!
Where I live, peak foliage hits during the first weekend of November. Suddenly, the whole world is golden. The sun shines through the leaves, people seem a bit happier, and the focus shifts to family because Thanksgiving is coming. November is always a time of overwhelming nostalgia, of being bundled and warm, enjoying time with family and friends, and soaking in the beauty all around. Then the leaves fall and every step has a satisfying crunch. They sky gradually fades to whiter, grayer shades than September and October, and the naked trees reach up like arms stretching toward the sky. Of all the fall months, November is the coziest. It reminds me of coming home from college. There’s a certain feeling of warmth that comes from walking in the door of your childhood home after being away. Since I lived at home during grad school and now live 17 minutes from my parents’ house, I’m never away long enough to feel that pleasantly overwhelming sense of home, but I still remember the sense of relief and calm I felt each time I walked through the door loaded up with my Vera Bradley overnight bags. For us, it’s also the most special because Andrew, Emily, and I are all November babies. Emily was actually born on Thanksgiving, so I will always be a little extra grateful.
So today, August 11th, as I sit on my mercifully breezy deck writing while Emily bounces in her jumper and Andrew works on a project in the yard, I take an extra moment to savor the summer. The breeze is blowing gently through the trees, the leaves make a soft whooshing sound, and the sky is cloudless. It’s warm enough to sit comfortably outside in shorts and a tank for me and a onesie for Emily. The beach, only a few minutes away, is breezy and the water glows bright blue. Today is perfect too. As much as I can’t wait for the cool, crisp, jewel-toned days of fall, I don’t want to rush these moments away because when the sky becomes gray and the snow falls, I’m going to wish I was right back here. So for now, I’m going to soak in the sun of golden hour, enjoy the gentle breeze on my face, and be present in this warm summer night with my happy, bouncy little girl.
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