Yes, it's true. I haven't been around much since June, but as my life online and my writing career has been on hold, by days IRL have blossomed. I spent one exceptional summer with my son. My lovely child--and as my reproductive future looks bleak--my only child. Together we discovered how to make it rain in a mason jar (it only takes some boiling water, plastic wrap and ice cubes). We rode roller coasters, flew with Harry Potter, went kayaking, read about Wimpy Kids (thanks to Jeff Kinney) and rhinoceroses for sale (because Shel Silverstein is brilliant). We stayed up late and ate too much candy. We rose early to watch the sun rise. We visited the beach and sank our toes in the sand and built castles replete with giant squid. We met up with my old friends and made new acquaintances with which to share freshly roasted s'mores. We laughed and cried and conquered a few times tables (3's and 4's most notably). It is, I hope, the summer by which his childhood is measured. The summer he will look back on and laugh and say, "Mom, remember when..."
Did I miss my quiet time, my time to imagine and dream and dare to pursue one perfect turn of phrase? Not as much as I would've thought. It was an exceptional summer. One I won't soon forget.