It’s summertime
In previous columns I have reminisced about how, when you have kids at home, the changing of the seasons is defined by what activities they have. For example, you know it is fall when they have soccer, and you are watching them play in the freezing cold, long after the sun has gone down. And you know it is summer when you start buying supplies for camp. Lots and lots of socks and underwear. The newest style of t-shirt-dry fit, cotton… With boys it was always easy and never that exciting.
Matzo Ball’s pidyon brought me to Denny’s, the children’s clothing store in the very depressing Fashion Center on Route 17. The depressing part is for a whole other column (rest in peace, Lord & Taylor). I was trying to find him a fashionable outfit to be worn for his ceremonial “purchase.”
There were two women in the store discussing outfits for camp. One woman was showing the other how many ways her daughter could pair different shorts and skirts with a specific tank top. I never knew that you could have someone “outfit” your kid for camp. What a genius idea! Please pay me so I can find clothing for your child to wear while you follow me around the store. Who knew? (Probably most people, just not me.) And do moms do this for boys when they are happy wearing undershirts and basketball shorts? Please advise. Well, actually, it is too late for me.
In any event, when your nest is empty, there are no hallmark activities to let you know that time is passing you by. Not to sound like Ferris Bueller, but if you don’t stop and look around, it all becomes one long day. For me, I know when it is summer because, well, it gets warmer, though the weather recently has been hot and cold … and hot and cold. How do I really know that summer is upon us? When I start seeing folks barbecuing in the parks where I walk.
Now, I know that most husbands are in charge of the grill. The wife does all the indoor cooking, but the husband is out there making the burgers and steaks and what have you.
Yes, I am being stereotypical and the furthest thing from “woke,” but please forgive me. Husband #1 is not one of these husbands. He is a wonderful human, but the guy doesn’t even know how to light a match, and the thought of him manning a grill is, quite honestly, frightening.
For our 10th anniversary, my parents bought us a Weber grill. I loved it. But, alas, like most things in life, it wore itself out, and I had to get a new one. And though I tried to get the same one I had before, like most things in life, it just isn’t the same. I use the new one, but not as much as the older one, because it just doesn’t work the same.
When I see people barbecuing in the park, I am always amazed because they grill on freestanding grills. It is like magic. How do people know how to do these things? It must be so liberating to just bring your family to the park and know that you will be able to cook them dinner with some charcoal and a match. I think. As I just said, I have no idea how those things work.
But to get back to my original point, that is how I know that summer is coming. Though, this year, thank God, I have a very special way of knowing that summer is coming. Camp Babka is running a special pre-camp camp for my favorite and only camper.
This year, Camp Babka is even supplying transportation from the Island of Long to the campsite. Yes, moms of boys, this is what you have to do in order to have your grandchildren come out to the suburbs for a two-week camp that you are running. And that is just fine, and I am so grateful that my children trust me with their children. Okay, maybe trust isn’t the right word, but we will go with that.
Wishing all of you a healthy and safe summer and a happy Father’s Day to all of those fathers who know how to barbecue and even to the ones who don’t.
Banji Ganchrow is looking forward to pickle-making with Strudel. She isn’t sure how they will turn out, but Strudel is excited to find out what a peppercorn is, and honestly, so is her Babka.
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