When I was a kid, summers were long. Getting out of school in June left me looking at this expanse of free time that never seemed to end. There was time for camp and swimming and biking and catching frogs and going on vacation and trying on back to school clothes and chasing after the ice cream man.

I know that in relative terms, 2 months to a 9 year old is going to seem a lot longer than it will to a 31 year old, if you consider that 2 months is almost 2% of a 9 year old’s life and .5% of a 31 year old’s life, (and seriously, that is a little beyond my mathematical skills, but we can talk about that another time).

I suppose if you take into account the responsibilities of a 9 year old vs. those of a 31 year old, it adds to the explanation of summer feeling leisurely then when it doesn’t now. At nine I didn’t have repainting the mint chocolate chip green bathroom, researching the local garbage companies to see if we’re getting the best deal, paying the mortgage, cooking dinner, getting my glasses readjusted, reading that thing that I promised I’d read, replying to the e-mails I need to reply to, emptying the dehumidifier, feeding the dog, cleaning the kitty litter, or turning the compost on my to do list.

My summer to do list looked like this:

1. Go to camp
2. Come home from camp
3. Climb tree
4. Catch frog
5. Get muddy
6. Hide muddy clothes to avoid getting yelled at for being muddy

The list comparison and the lifetime percentages don’t fully explain the fact that I swear about 3 hours ago it was 1:30 in the afternoon, and now it’s past 11:00 at night. Today whizzed by, and I feel like I need a few extra hours. Bonus time or something. And we won’t even get into how it felt like June was last week.

Everything on my 31 year old list will get done (well, maybe not the bathroom, it’s been on the to do list for several years now), but it doesn’t leave much time for lolling around, studying blades of grass, looking for lightening bugs, or running like one of Pavlov’s dogs when I hear the ice cream man’s bell.