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I noticed this afternoon that winter and summer have generally run together for me over the past few years. Being in my early thirties, I work a full time job, year round, and don’t have definitively marked seasonal boundaries signified by things like school letting out or long winter breaks. Aside from the bump up in degrees Fahrenheit, July may as well be May or September. I’m busy enough that I haven’t quite ever been conscious of specifically what time of year we’re in.

My son, however, knows exactly what time of year it is. While I tend to have grown up worries about things like the pipes under the house, the tree that needs to be taken down, the shifts in the foundation from Texas weather fluctuations, he is conscious only of how long we let him stay in the pool, or how wet he can get us if he manages to get ahold of the hose.

As a parent, I fall into the trap of hovering and being too restrictive. Underneath that is simply the desire to protect my son from mishaps that can unwittingly cause harm (or cost a lot of money). Despite those intentions, a major early lesson staring me in the face is the need to let go, and let out the leash. It’s more difficult than it sounds, I’ve discovered it takes practice on a conscious level. The payoff is the expression on his face when he discovers something wonderful or experiences something new.

Though I’m sure every parent has had well-meaning rules they’ve enacted for themselves related to their parenting style (that probably last about as long as “I won’t become my parents”), I’m resolving now that if I succeed at nothing else, I would hope I just don’t grow him up too quickly.