Summer nostalgia

I am not sure if it is because I am addicted to nostalgia, or my disease robbing me of abilities that I am not ready to release, but I do not give up easily and let things go.

My stubbornness serves me well some of the time, but at other times it causes me great distress and gets me in a little bit of trouble.

When I was 11, my family moved from our house in town to a house in the country. One difference at our new house was that we had a larger yard, so we got a riding lawn mower. Mowing the lawn was a chore I liked because I got to drive something long before I got my driver’s license.

Mowing is something that my younger son took over many years ago at our home that we built behind my parents. There is a lot of grass to mow! Just like me, he found a chore he enjoys. We have been spoiled for many summers with him mowing our lawn.

He was out of town this weekend, and the lawn needed to be mowed, along with a long to do list before our trip to Australia for the marathon. My husband is buried with endless tasks, and I wanted to help ease his burden.

I had not mowed the grass in quite some time but felt confident that if he could get me on and off the riding lawn mower, that I could indeed check that task off our list. Anyone else love the feeling of putting a check mark beside a completed task?

He reluctantly agreed to “let” me do it. He never wants me to overdo it and is always looking out for my best interest. He also knows I sometimes take on things I should not, so that I feel like I am pulling my weight around the house.

It was not easy to get me on and off the lawnmower, but we did. It was like riding a bike, sort of. My lines were not as straight and neat as my son’s, but I gave it my best effort. It felt good to take on something that I used to enjoy.

After mowing, I convinced my husband we needed a break, so we took a dip in my parent’s pool. For a while now, I have been thinking back on how active I used to be around that pool. One of my favorite “tricks” was my back dive. I did it repeatedly until I was exhausted when I was younger.

The pool has always been a very freeing place for me to be and is one of the reasons my parents took on that “fixer upper” in the country.

I voiced my sense of wonder to my family while we were there. “I wonder if I can still do my back dive?” Immediately they all said, “That is not a good idea,” which made me want to try it more.

I had my husband walk with me to the edge of the pool and I held onto him as I turned around. Instantly, it was clear to me they were right, not a good idea. They were all relieved.

I turned around and dove forwards into the pool. I had not done that in a long time either. It felt good to do it again. My disability almost disappears when I am in the water, which explains why I spent countless hours in that pool growing up.

My parents called me a little fish, and my mom told me I would turn into a raisin if I did not get out. Then, when I became a mom, the pool was a place where I could hold my boys on my hip and spin them around doing a lot of things with them that I could not do on land.

This weekend was another reminder to me that some things of the past are still possible, even if only for a day.

Until next time …

Amy Shinneman is a former National Ambassador for the Muscular Dystrophy Association, disability blogger, freelance writer, wife, and mom of two boys. She is the recipient of The Reporter’s Winter 2025 Ink-Stained Wretch award. You can find her blog at humblycourageous.org and reach her on Instagram @ashinneman.