The parent of a 4 year old, especially a 4 year old boy, is in for a very rough road if they have a phobia-level fear of insects. And I do.
When I think back to what my childhood summers were like, they were not about pristine sand beaches, my parents holding cocktails with tiny umbrellas or even cruise ship trips. While the media portrays such things as the stuff summers are made of, I really think that what builds those days are the memories we create doing simple things- washing the family car, blowing bubbles and those minutes that float by in a tire swing, while your head is angled as far back as it can be to see the tree branches go by in a twirling blur. Of course, you make your brother twist the ropes so you can be the one to enjoy the puke inducing thrill ride that makes it the summer of dreams.