When I first became a mom, my oldest was just a wee baby, and I had a chat with a more seasoned mom whose kids were older. She sighed dramatically and said, “You only get 18 summers with them. After that, poof! They’re gone!” She snapped her fingers and waved her arms like she was casting a spell. I nodded along, trying to appear understanding, but honestly, I was just excited that the school supplies section at Target was open for business—new browsing opportunities galore!
Fast forward twelve years, and here I am with four kids, realizing that those eighteen summers don’t actually exist in the way I imagined. Between summer jobs, mission trips, internships, and sleepaway camps, my kids are busier than I am! Maybe I’m feeling particularly nostalgic this year because my oldest is about to turn 13, which means—gulp—I’m officially the mom of a teenager!
This is where my reluctance to bid farewell to summer comes in. Technically, I have five more summers left with her, right? Five sounds so small when I think about it. I know those days won’t be filled with lazy pool parties or endless library trips anymore. Instead, I see her growing independence, her newfound ability to sleep for half the day, and her desire to spend all her time with friends. Yes, we’ve nurtured her independence (go us!), but I can’t help but wish for just a little more time doing silly things together. I mean, who doesn’t want to see their teenager still squeal with delight at the thought of a waterpark trip or a science museum visit?
Yet, here’s the kicker—parenting isn’t just about what I want. It’s about them growing up (and occasionally leaving me in the dust). So, as school approaches and summer draws to a close, I find myself grappling with the bittersweet nature of endings. I’ve never been good at saying goodbye, even if it means she’s becoming the amazing person we’ve raised her to be.
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In summary, as I reflect on the fleeting nature of childhood summers, I realize that while my kids are growing up faster than I can keep up with, every moment we share is precious. So, whether we’re crafting popsicle-stick dollhouses or embracing the independence that comes with their teenage years, I’ll cherish these summers—even if they’re not quite what I imagined.