I’m headed back to work this week (I’m a teacher) and I know that the inevitable question “What did you do this summer?” is going to be asked. 

When I was a student it always seemed like it was almost a contest to see who had the most exciting holiday.  You rehearsed your lines the week before Labour day, perhaps had a souvenir or two to bring, got your first-day-of-school outfit ready…

Would you measure up?  Were you exciting enough?

I found myself getting ready in the same way the other day.

On the surface it seems like I didn’t do that much.

I cleaned-up a lot after the builders.

Made large decisions about the type of house we’ll be living in for a very long time, baked, continued on my rocky, writing journey…  But what about the huge trip?  What about the course completed?  How’s that novel going?  Did you get married?  Pregnant?

I didn’t do any of those things and…

I don’t care.

I learned this summer that my family and my life don’t need a story.  They are great.  They are imperfect.  They are frustrating.  They are lovable and they come first.

On my summer vacation I learned to just live.  To enjoy little moments and feel blessed.  To not need a big tada (unless it involves a really good dessert or a terrific sale on Kate Spade shoes).  To love watching my little girl.  To find joy in her learning how to do puzzles and saying a new word each day.  To feel amazed that I met my amazing husband and he somehow chose to spend his life with me.  I even got to spend a couple of weeks with my mom.  My sister and I will have time together-eventually.

Maybe that is my big tada.  Is this what being a grown-up means?  Hmmm…Didn’t think that would happen.