The final days of school are winding down to the daunting sprawl of time known as summer break.

Those of us with elementary aged kids (and older) are wondering if we’re up to the monumental task of managing our children’s appetites, interests, and social calendars… full time. 

My oldest is 8, and incredibly social. He’s also in the middle of a phase that requires a huge amount of interaction with his friends and neighbors.

Asking him to complete a task alone, or to play in his room, is akin to asking him to scrub the tile floor with a toothbrush.

A mere five minutes in, the whining and complaints of boredom begin.

I suppose that summer break is really just a long stretch of trying to avoid having to listen to our beloved, resilient children complain about how bored they are. 

That being said, I have a plan in place. And I’m going to share it with you. 

A few months ago, my husband sent our son outside on his bike with one of his walkie talkies.

We kept the other one, told him to be back in 10 minutes to “check-in,” and a beautiful compromise between safety and independence was born. 

On our little island of Guam, the neighborhoods on the navy base can feel like a step back in time.

We have a sense of security here; we have the ultimate gated community. We know many of our neighbors, not just on our street, but the streets around us, too.

Our kids play together regularly, sometimes moving from house to house in a whirlwind of water breaks and popsicles. 

But I was still nervous when my son rode his bike out of our sight for the first time.

I worked as a police dispatcher until he was born. I answered 911 calls for nearly 8 years; I know better than most the horrific things that can happen to an unaccompanied child who is in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

It’s hard for me to put those fears to rest, sometimes, but my husband is a firm believer that the level of control here (on-base) is greater than the perceived risk.

Independence is a huge part of having responsibility and gaining confidence during childhood (age appropriately, obviously).

With me on team “safety” and my husband on team “independence,” I think we’ve struck a pretty solid balance. 

It’s this balance that I hope will sustain us throughout the long, hot summer here on the island, where there is admittedly only a small number of air conditioned, kid-friendly attractions to entertain them. 

So, we plan to make a lot of our own fun, with the help of those walkie talkies.

We use them to check-in, to update on who’s house they’re going to play in (if they’re running as a pack), and to send word if there’s an injury that needs to be tended and kissed.

We also have a network of phone numbers so that we can message the other parents (which comes in handy quite a lot).

My son isn’t grown yet, but he’s not a little boy anymore, either. He still wants my attention, but he doesn’t want me to hover.

My kisses don’t magically heal his scrapes, anymore.

My jokes aren’t as funny as they used to be, and sometimes I’m “embarrassing.”

But I still understand him better than anyone else. And he understands me, too, in a way that no one else ever will. 

Someday all too soon, he will be standing at the front door with car keys in his hand.

I don’t know where we will be living, or who his circle of friends will be, or what kind of car he will be begging for.

But I suspect that I’ll think back to these days with the walkie talkies, and imagine him putting his helmet on and opening the front door as he calls “Love you, Mom!” over his shoulder. 

Bit by bit, we are having to give him more space.

To relax our grip.

To trust him, and to trust our own judgement, despite the wildly critical and judgmental times we are living in.

One day, our walkie talkies will fall silent, and his little voice will not call for me on them again.

They will be replaced by a cell phone, or by e-mails. They will be replaced with video chats, emojis, and voicemails. 

So this summer, I’m going to embrace their two-way connection.

I’m going to hug his not-so-little shoulders and kiss the top of his not-so-short head, and I’m going to send him out the door to play with his friends. 

Day by day, these days will pass, until they’re nothing but a distant memory for my son – a summer of sweaty hair, popsicles, and the voice of his mom on the walkie, calling him inside for supper. 

Editor’s Note: The island of Guam sounds like a slice of heaven. Enjoy these days Kaci…Enjoy them all.

*For more of Kaci’s work, visit her M:M Author Page.