This weekend, with Hurricane Irene to help me out, I celebrated my birthday. My birthday has always felt like the first step toward the end of summer. Within a week, Labor Day comes and goes, school starts, and before you know it, everyone’s back in sweaters and jeans, with shorts and sundresses packed away for the next year.
Summer always seems to be the shortest of seasons, and I’m often sad to see it go. This year, though, summer has been so chock full that I’m looking forward to a more settled autumn. With a week at the Jersey shore, our big move, and an almost weeklong trip to Boston, things have been blessedly busy. Plus, I’ve already had a couple of I-wish-I-were-wearing-jeans-today moments, so I’m officially ready for the leaves to start turning.
I am grateful to have one more week before Labor Day—one more week to enjoy warm weather and iced coffees, afternoons in the park in sandals and the smell of baby sunscreen.
But even after Labor Day passes, I will remain resolutely convinced that summer is not over until mid-September. As thrilled as I am that football’s preseason has begun and the regular season is just two weeks away (J-E-T-S, JETS, JETS, JETS!), I have a baby boy with a summer birthday. From this point forward, summer will be summer until my little boy turns a year older.
Although as sunny and warm as his personality is, I think Jacob could make any month feel like summer.