You know summer is here when the "children" arrive. Other peoples children. Released from the repression of school (college) and unable to find a summer job, they descent on our house like a swarm of yellow jackets at a picnic. Except that they are no longer children. They are turning 21 at a rate that continues to astonish. Just yesterday they were excited munchkins headed for kindergarten in their new clothes with their new little backpacks holding their pencils and paper. Yes, they were anxious, but now they were "grown up" and didn't have to just play school anymore. They were there. They were BIG kids now.
Fast forward to this summer. They no longer arrive in their parent's car. They no longer carry a note with their parent's cell phone number. They no longer run back to the car to hand their parent a note with our cell phone number on it. No. Now they arrive with a 6 pack of Schmirnoff Ice and a foot long sub sandwich. The rule at our house is if you have been drinking, you do not leave the house unless you have a designated driver. More than once I have had to break that news to gigantic hulking young men - who, gratefully, have always said "Yes Ma'm, Stubble already let me know that." God Bless Stubble.
Now that it is summer they do not continually congregate in the game room like lumps on a couch with a controler and a headset (which allows them to be international lumps). They head to the backyard. To the pool and the hot tub. I would be appreciative if someone would explain to me why they did not want to use the hot tub when it was 50 degrees outside but now that it is above 90 they want to get in.
And then there is the firepit. Thoughtful previous owners left us a gift. A fire pit on the deck area near the pool The kids (I mean young adults) now have a huge wood habit (they prefer leaping flames to glowing embers) and are going through a bag of marshmallows a day. I did thoughtfully provide the fixings for s'mores, but they are into "just plain burned" marshmallows. Of course after their pilfering of every skewer in the kitchen, we went on an extended search for our camping toasting forks. Could we find them? You already know the answer. A quick trip to a National Sporting Goods Store solved that probloem.
It is really nice and I do mean that sincerely, to fall asleep on a Friday or Saturday night listening to the crackle of logs, the sound of young voices, and music played over someone's smart phone.