When I was a kid, I loved summer evenings. Summer afternoons at the town pool were a close second, but the time between dinner and bedtime was my favorite time of day. The summer evenings of my childhood meant playing kickball with my dad, having campouts, catching lightning bugs, playing hide and seek, and cranking homemade ice cream. Early summer mornings have taken over as my favorite time of day—I love sipping coffee on the porch while the day is still new. But when the kids were home, I still loved summer nights. I loved the extra daylight hours for playing outside, followed by baths and summer jammies and bedtime stories on the porch when they were small. And when they grew older, the nights were filled with summer soccer, Around the World, roof ball, four square, and glow-in-the-dark Frisbee. Even up through last summer we often played tennis or Kan Jam after supper while it was still light and board games or cards when it got dark. But this week none of my kids have been home, and I have to say I’m struggling with the time between dinner and bedtime. I’m not really enjoying those extra daylight hours—I don’t know what to do with them. Oh, I garden and read, and sometimes my husband and I walk or watch a little TV, but for once, time is heavy on my hands. I find myself doing crossword puzzles in the paper and playing Spider Solitaire to pass the time until I can go to bed. Thankfully, my girl is coming home from camp today, so I’ll have a reprieve for the next couple of weeks until she’s gone again. But this past week has taught me that I’ve got still some work to do in figuring out this new stage of life.