Almost perfect

Summer has finally arrived, and I mean really arrived. We're not talking "technically, but we still have stuff to finish up". We're in full-blown summer mode. The kids are in camp, I'm done with my job until September, life is almost perfect.

The school year ended with a series of bangs - like Fourth of July with the noise and the oohs and aahs, but smaller crowds.

My husband breezed through final exams with confidence, and I cruised through Shavuot and Field Day with grace and ease (cough, cough, sputter).

Our children, however, made us look like a couple of amateurs. They lit up their respective stages in their end-of-year programs like a pair of seasoned pros. My eldest nailed his piano recital. He tickled those ivories like a proverbial Prokofiev, a regular Rachmaninoff, a charming Chopin. He looked good and sounded phenomenal. He played two challenging solos and a beautiful, romantic duet with his school friend and carpool buddy.

His piano teacher was grinning proudly when all was said and done. And the oreos on our young friend's teeth couldn't dim her smile.

After the concert, we took a leisurely stroll through the Lincoln Park Zoo looking for Polar Bears. We never found them, but we did find three adorable cuddle-bears instead.

My big girl also finished the year with a show stopping performance at her ballet recital. Once again, I volunteered to be the backstage mom, and enjoyed unparalleled access to the stars of the stage:

my daughter and her adorable classmates who mugged,

smiled,
vogued, and hammed it up for the camera.

You should have seen what they did on stage.

Four cuter, sweeter, brighter, and more vivacious little dancers couldn't be found.

But here's the kicker: my diva wants to quit. For most of the year she's been telling me she's had enough and hates dancing, and wants to put it all behind her.

She can't possibly mean it, can she?

After the performance, we decided to go on a mini-adventure walking to a playground by the lake, a good two or three miles a way. The kids were up for some excitement, so we pulled out the stroller, smeared on the sunscreen, and donned the hats for sun protection.

We needn't have bothered.

About a mile into our walk it began to drizzle, but we were buoyed by the excitement of the dance behind us and the journey ahead. We ducked into a doorway, and waited for the rain to pass.

Five or six blocks from the lake we were caught in something more menacing: a nasty hail storm. We pressed ourselves into another doorway, but it provided little protection from the ice pellets pelting us. I sheltered my children the best I could and we waited for an eternity for the storm to pass.

A kind stranger saw us huddled in the doorway of the church across the street and came to our rescue with an umbrella. We took a potty break in her home, and headed home tired, battered and disappointed.

I felt horrible exposing my children to such frightening elements, but I'll be darned; for all of the complaining I heard on our walk home, they lit up with excitement describing the frightening scene in vivid detail to their daddy. To hear them tell it, it was the coolest thing they had ever experienced. They had survived a veritable monsoon-blizzard-hurricane rolled into one, on wits and bravery alone.

We survived it, all right. We survived a tough school year, a couple of rigorous performances, and much more. And finally, summer has arrived.

Sunshine, warmth, low expectations, and fun are the only things on our minds these days. We're squeezing every bit of enjoyment out of each day, going for walks, going to the mall, visiting playgrounds.

And me? Well, I'm on summer break, too. Everyday I drop the kiddos off at camp and then I grab my Skokie Sistah to walk off the winter insulation and the spring stress. We embrace the freedom that only happens on those warm, sunny days when the kids are in camp, school's out, and life is almost perfect.