Summer Strange and Sweet

In some ways, this has been a strange summer. And in others, it seems just as summer should be. The strangeness began with the early closing of school – both the physical school building in mid-March and the release from remote learning at the end of May, two and a half weeks before the originally anticipated last day of school. The kids have been home nearly four months already, which hasn’t happened since before they went to preschool.

For large chunks of that time they have been left on their own to entertain themselves and each other. If necessity is the mother of invention, well, boredom seems to be a good motivator.

With no big trips planned this summer, no fast-moving weeks filled with the happy chaos of cousins visiting from California and Texas and Tennessee, no camps to attend – there are a lot of hours to fill. Some of these are taken up with books or puzzles or board games, others with screens, a few with chores, and some spent around the corner at grandparents’ houses.

The rest is time outside – alone or with each other, roping me in when I am not typing away or meeting-by-zoom in the hot office upstairs. We’ve had a couple of big hiking days, with more anticipated later in the summer. There’s the occasional bike ride. But for the most part, the kids have to find their own fun – or invent it.

For weeks this spring, after the snow had melted from the yard – during that long stretch of time

where we didn’t go anywhere or see anyone outside of our own family – we held daily 2 v. 2 soccer games late in the afternoons. We rotated teammates every other day and argued every call. It was an unwritten part of the daily schedule, a reward for making it through another day of school via Google Classroom.

In the weeks since school has ended, the kids have cycled through several rounds of self-propelled amusement. There’s a rudimentary rope swing hanging from the branch of a maple tree near the edge of the yard, and the skeleton of a fort in another corner. For a while there was an obstacle course climbing and twisting through a series of natural and kid-made structures. They’ve created a disc golf course and three variations of foot golf courses, weaving around gardens and through trees to hit the designated targets. The actual golf clubs have made only one brief appearance.

Only recently have we expanded our pandemic era circle to include a few friends. We hike through the woods toward mountain summits together, or meet at the river in the afternoons, where the kids skip rocks and choreograph synchronized leaps into the water.

Many days, as I make my way through working remotely, the kids make summer plans up as they go along. There is no itinerary, no set agenda, no schedule mapped out by the hour or the day.

But there is hot sunshine and cool, clear water just down the hill. There are bikes in the garage, hiking boots in the mudroom, and flipflops strewn across the front porch. There are trees to climb, friends to meet, towels hung on the line to dry between splashing in the pool and leaping into the river. There are books to read on long, lazy afternoons and fireflies flickering through the tall grass of the field after dark.

While we are missing some of our cherished summer traditions, I think maybe this is how summer should be, even if just this once – completely unmapped, unplanned, unbusy. Strange, perhaps, but sweet, too.

Original content published by Meghan McCarthy McPhaul. This essay appears as Meghan's July 9, 2020 Close to Home column in the Littleton Record. 

Playing Games

The other day I walked into the living room to find my three children embroiled in an intense game of Uno. The scene reminded me of a line from an Anna Quindlen essay, where she muses that perhaps she’d had three children so that she wouldn’t have to play board games and could instead pursue some other diversion, like curling up quietly with a good book, while the kids entertained themselves.

Learning to entertain themselves – and each other – is a skill I’ve long encouraged in my children. I may not be sitting down with a great novel while they’re playing games, but it allows me some time and quiet to tend to other tasks (like finishing this column). There are other lessons to be learned from playing games, not least of which is how to win – and lose – gracefully. There’s also patience, thinking ahead, math skills, paying attention, and keeping your cards (literal and figurative) close when necessary.

The first game beyond Candy Land (ugh) and Memory we tackled was Clue. That was my husband’s idea, and I figured the kids would quickly lose interest amid the vague and sometimes conflicting evidence of “who done it.” But my husband often presents the kids with challenges (and, sometimes, responsibilities) I’m not sure they’re ready for, and they usually handle these just fine. Playing Clue was no exception, and they soon grasped the game’s complexities. He also introduced the kids to Monopoly, a game, like Candy Land, for which I have little tolerance, although perhaps that’s just a reflection of my aversion to shopping and economics.

The kids have also picked up Old Maid and Dominos and this winter discovered Rack-O, another oldie-but-goodie my mother pulled out of some closet where she keeps relics from my childhood and hers – books and dolls and Matchbox cars and my brothers’ old Legos – unearthing them at  appropriate times.

Over the weekend, my husband taught our older two children to play cribbage, a game full of math and strategy and second chances. It also happens to be my own favorite game. My father taught me the intricacies of cribbage when I was about the same age my children are now. Before long, we were playing the cutthroat version, where if your opponent misses a point and you catch it, it’s yours for the taking.

Back then we came north from our Massachusetts home for ski weekends and summer vacations. Here, there was no television – or, at least, only two very fuzzy channels. So we often passed the evenings playing games. Cribbage, Sorry!, Yahtzee. If friends were over, we’d bring out the Pictionary board or a game of real and pretend words called Balderdash, which always ended in gasping-for-breath fits of laughter from both the kids and grown-ups gathered around the table.

The game playing in our house has not reached quite that level of silliness, yet, nor is it always harmonious. There is sometimes squabbling over whose turn it is and occasional accusations over someone breaking the rules or peeking at opponents’ cards. If one child settles into a winning streak, the others are likely to become frustrated. Sometimes a bad hand is chucked across the table and the game abruptly ended. But they’re learning, with practice, to celebrate a win, then move on. To regroup after a loss and try again.

Each of my children seems to favor a different game. The littlest one is especially taken with Uno, which involves tactical thinking, but no math or reading. She’s ruthless in her play, impishly laying down plus-2 and plus-4 cards, letting out an exultant “Yyeeessss!” with each victory and a mild “Hmph” at a loss. My son thrives in the long game and careful rumination of Clue and Monopoly. My older daughter enjoys the challenge of figuring out which combination of cards to keep and which to throw into the “kitty” in cribbage.

All of them giggle gleefully when they have a good hand or draw a valuable card. They give too much away with giddy grins and disappointed frowns. I guess, with all the lessons being learned while playing games, we still need to work on the importance of a poker face.

Original content by Meghan McCarthy McPhaul, posted to her Blog: Writings From a Full Life. This essay also appears as Meghan's Close to Home column in the March 27, 2015 edition of the Littleton Record.