We didn't grill up salmon/kale/root vegetable kebabs, peaches or anything remotely Instagram-able.
I didn't dress my children in crisp whites and do a beach photo shoot. Half the time, they were walking around with chocolate ice-cream stains on their clothes.
We didn't go to anyone's beach house...
...or on anyone's sailboat. Womp womp.
We didn't make gourmet ice pops.
We didn't take an impromptu road trip to some quaint little town.
We didn't have a picnic with a gingham tablecloth, fancy food and real cutlery.
We still haven't seen Hamilton. We haven't even tried.
We didn't deck out our outdoor wicker furniture with colorful new pillows.
We didn't leisurely browse green markets, although once Ben downed two bowlfuls of watermelon from an all-you-can-eat buffet.
We didn't dip Popsicles in Prosecco and have friends over to enjoy them at dusk with lit tiki lights.
We didn't have a single drink with an umbrella in it, come to think of it. Or slurp anything out of a coconut.
We didn't go glamping.
...chill on the front porch and back deck, take long walks around our neighborhood, gorge on hot dogs and burgers and corn in the husk, swim in our town pool, run through sprinklers, visit a water park, hit a couple of county fairs, buy lemonade from kids' stands, see Cars 3 (twice), make s'mores, stroll on a boardwalk, ride bumper cars, hike to a waterfall, forget about following any schedule and enjoy all sorts of nontrendy, simple pleasures of summer. And that was plenty good for us.
FYI, spending quality time on your front porch or stoop is now called "porching." Stopppppp.