Slices of Life

The So Long Summer Edition

Photo by Katie Moum

I sliced open a peach the other day. Lobbed it apart in quarters, four straight cuts alongside the pit. This is the only way to do it in early summer, when peaches cling stubbornly to their centers.

But this time, when I made my final slice, the pit came tumbling out, dancing from side to side on the cutting board.

How is this possible? I thought. Freestone peaches—that is, when the pit releases effortlessly, leaving the relief of itself behind—are a sign of late summer, a barometer for the season’s increasing heat and ease and endpoint.

Then I remembered it was, in fact, late July.

That’s how fast this summer went by. This entire peach-timekeeping episode happened not last month, but the month before that.

Such is summer, right? Can you believe it’s over? The autumn equinox doesn’t arrive for a few more weeks, but c’mon. It’s September! In my book, that means so long summer and hello fall.

And hello, Substack! To catch up after a quiet couple of months, I thought I’d share some recent (peach) slices of life from around here…

A Nice, Long Vacation

My daughter and I are sitting at the table, just us two, the day before we’re leaving on a road trip for the Fourth of July.

It’s all we can talk about. Which of her brightly colored bathing suits does she want to pack? (All of them!) How many jigsaw puzzles will we finish while we’re there? (Same!) How hot does 100 degrees feel on the skin? (Melty!)

She’s excited!

She’s also been in a mood, for over a week now.

This sometimes happens with three year olds, or so they tell me. Experts who should know about these things call it individuation, that emotional and mental separation from caregivers. Kids forge their own selves, but want assurance that we, their parents, are still there for them.

So amidst all this individuating, she’s feeling sassy about something. The lack of strawberries on her plate? That the PJs she wants are in the wash and unavailable? Who knows!

But on it goes, for the whole meal, until finally I say, I hear you baby, I do, but could we try to talk about how you’re feeling without all the yelling and whining? and she says, But I FEEL like yelling and whining.

“Oof,” is what I say in reply, “It’s going to be a lonnnnnng vacation if you keep this up.”

She stops dead in her tracks. Looks at me with a mixture of concern and pity, as if no one has explained to me this most important life lesson:

“But mama,” she says slowly, “We want it to be a long vacation.”