Tag: writing

the summer girl, who is relieved it’s over

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We’re back, back in the flow of school, schedules, routines and real life– and to be honest, for the first time {maybe ever} I feel, relieved. I am a summer forever type of girl, I live for sunshine-y days on the water, slow mornings and a plan-less day. But why this year am I relieved it’s over?

As my kids get older and older, I’m finding it harder to be that spontaneous, let’s-have-ALL-the-fun-we-can-in-a-day type of Mom. I think perhaps because my kiddos are spread out in ages they have different needs and desires. And with having older girls, their expectations have gotten a little more unrealistic let’s say. They are less enthusiastic about play doh, chalk murals and endless pool time. It’s more, “can we go to Sephora, Florida Juice and Bowl then a trampoline park” type of fun, which IS FUN of course…. every once and awhile, but cannot be the standard for everyday life.

May and June were loads of activity, we were bouncing from baseball tournaments to family trips, to beach days with friends, to birthday parties and every hour seemed accounted for. We had late nights over and over and more screen time than i’d like to admit.

July was slower. More down time, maybe even too much downtime, less plans. But this led to me being the sole provider of all the activity planning, what felt like round-the-clock meal prepping and chaos coordinating as my husband traveled. I think somewhere in the middle would have been a little better suited for us: save this under “things to remember for next summer” — Some plans to keep us moving, but not too many to lead to the absolute exhaustion I felt going in to the final month of summer.

Sometimes I get caught up in the vortex of socials and see others having perfect days filled with berry picking and park play and crying about their kiddos having to go back to school. Meanwhile, I felt a sense of relief. Relief that we have a schedule to abide by now. Relief that I have some solo time for my introvert to catch her breath. Relief that I don’t have to be the cruise director of everyone’s fun every single day. Does this make me a bad Mom? Summer burnout feels so real to me this year.

Do N O T get me wrong, I am beyond grateful I get to be home with my kids for the summer, but I feel like I’ve been living this state of fight or flight for a few weeks now and desperately need to get back in to a dialed-in regimen again, which school and sports naturally provide for us.

I think so much of life as a woman or a mother is telling us to do everything so BIG and loud. Go to the best schools. Get a BOSS bi%ch job. Have children, but make sure you are home with them– but also work full-time and do this and this and this. Once you have the kids, make sure THEY are doing all the activities! 3 sports minimum to stay well rounded and do this and this and this.

But as I get older and dare I say wiser, I feel like it is all crap.

ITS TOO MUCH!! Aren’t you tired? I am.

I think we waste so many years trying to do such BIG things, and stay as BUSY as possible we lose sight of what is actually important. Slowing down, enjoying less and finding contentment in what we do have, not what we think we want. I think it is okay to be a little gentler to ourselves and allow time to not being doing it all.

I am learning still how to reel in the anti-home body in me and remind myself it’s okay to not be doing a million things at once. Because the burnout is real, for all of us. At least for me. We’re not meant to being going a lightning pace at all times. {I also say this as my children are about to embark on multiple sports at once, but you know, as I said, i’m still learning…. one day at a time}. It’s a new school year, and my goal is to actually prioritize downtime and remember its okay to say, no. To remind my kids, we can’t do everything. One day at a time. Just like everything in life, one task at a time, one day at a time. Start with the small stuff, and work your way up.

So if you are like me {I hope i’m not alone in this} and ready for a little routine, cheers to back to school– and a (hopefully) softer fall!

signed, the burned out summer girl.

The wonder years…

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This season of life is unique. My babies are no longer “babies” they’re growing up, as children tend to do, and becoming more independent — something we’ve been instilling since birth. They learned to cry when they were hungry, to self-soothe when they were uneasy, to use the potty when they needed to go, to walk… then run. We taught them to read, to write, and what’s safe and what’s not. Their first four years of life are strictly dedicated to teaching independence and finding their own way.

And yet, I’m not ready, it all happened so fast– even though it’s been us at the helm guiding them to their independence. Now, sits a quiet ache in the pit of my stomach, knowing they don’t ‘need me’ as much (unless it requires a ride, money, starbies, or help on homework). Some days, I wish time would stop so I could hold them on my hip again and kiss their chubby little feet one more time. I’d eagerly raise my hand to relive some of those years over and over, with no change— The messy parts, the hard parts, the unconventional parts.

But this chapter is different, I’ve started thinking of it as “The Wonder Years” — that transitional season when the parenting role quietly shifts. We’re no longer the directors or the hands-on rescuers; instead, we’re growing up with them, watching them through these formative years of discovery, and wonder. We’ve done the heavy lifting: instilled values, faced resilience, built trust so they know they’re loved no matter what. Now comes the beautiful, aching part — standing back (from an appropriate distance) as they explore life on their own terms. We see them light up over first crushes, first home-runs, watch them bounce back from failures and even disappointments. We witness the quirks that make them uniquely them, the sadnesses that shape their empathy, the joys that spark their curiosity.

It’s a gift, this front-row seat to their becoming. But it carries a bittersweet edge — every milestone forward is also a small letting-go, a reminder that the little versions who once needed us for every little thing are quietly turning into people who mostly don’t. And yet, in that space we’ve created, they are all the parts we’ve instilled and they’re thriving. that, perhaps, is the deepest wonder and joy of all.