There are certain sounds that define a Mississippi summer.
The hum of cicadas on a hot afternoon. The squeak of the back door opening and closing a hundred times a day. A basketball bouncing in the driveway. The mixer running because someone decided it was the perfect day to make brownies. The laughter coming from a backyard adventure—or the inevitable, “Mama, come look at this frog!”
And, of course, the words every mother has heard at least a thousand times:
“Mama, I’m bored.”
There was a time when summer at our house meant a trail of wet footprints across the floor, a sink full of dirty cups, and hearing “Mama, can I have a snack?” approximately every seven minutes.
Actually, some things never change.
Every summer, my boys have inevitably found themselves standing in front of me, usually around 10:00 a.m. after they have somehow exhausted every toy, game, and activity known to mankind, with the same declaration:
“Mama, I’m bored.”
For years, my answer was usually something along the lines of, “Go outside. Ride your bike. Build a fort. Catch lightning bugs. Use your imagination.”
And somehow they did.
A cardboard box became a fort. A garden hose became an all-day water park. A bucket became the perfect place to temporarily house whatever frog they had proudly caught in the backyard that evening.
Because yes, even now, with one foot in the world of football workouts, guitar lessons, and teenage independence, my boys still somehow find themselves outside on summer nights with a flashlight looking for frogs.
And I hope they never completely outgrow that.
These days, our summers look different. My calendar has more practices, workouts, and lessons written on it than I ever imagined. The little boys who once needed me to entertain them every hour are slowly becoming young men who are figuring out who they are.
But I still have a 10-year-old who wants to make brownies with his mama. And his older brothers still somehow appear in the kitchen the second they smell cookies baking.
I’ve learned that childhood doesn’t leave all at once. It slowly trades muddy feet for cleats, backyard adventures for team practices, and afternoons of pretend play for late-night conversations in the truck.
The beautiful thing is that the connection remains.
So to the parents who are currently stepping over toy cars, washing grass stains out of clothes, and hearing “Mama, I’m bored” more times than you can count, soak it in.
Say yes to the sidewalk chalk. Let them make the mess in the kitchen. Turn a blind eye to the frogs in the bucket for just a little while.
Because before you know it, those little boys will be asking for a ride to football workouts, talking about their future, and becoming the men you prayed they would be.
And if you’re lucky, they’ll still come home looking for a snack, a homemade cookie, and their mama.
