It’s officially summer vacation. School is out — and my messy house is quiet and empty.
My “normal” summer would consist of a bucket list the kids and I created on the first day of break, diligently checking off our strawberry-picking and water-park visits. We would take advantage of the matinees at the movie theater and be frequent visitors at the Tropical Sno stand. Their skin would be sun-kissed from hours at the pool, and we’d all be exhausted by the end of each day.
I am still exhausted.
This summer, there is no bucket list. Instead of endless hours to fill with any adventure we could dream of, I’m grieving the calendar days when the kids are with their other parent. Making a list felt heavy this year, knowing my time to conquer it is no longer unlimited. Because of a choice someone else made, I am forced to share my children and lose half of the memories of their childhood — summer and otherwise. Instead of experiencing all the freedom and potential of summer break alongside them, I am hearing about it when they come home.
Going from a stay-at-home mom with kids attached to my side 24/7 to a mom who waves as my kids leave every other weekend has been the hardest transition for me. Keeping my composure as pieces of my heart walk out of my line of sight is neither natural nor easy. I’ve had to find ways to fill my quiet hours and make peace with the new reality — a work in progress.
For now, I’m trying my best to stay busy with bike rides, audiobooks, and aimlessly wandering the garden center until it’s finally time again for little arms to wrap around me and set my world back on its axis. To every parent feeling that little pull in your chest when you see families together doing all the summer activities — we’re in this together. Maybe this parenting journey looks different, but it is not less.
Our love for our babies is forced to shape-shift and stretch longer distances, but it is as fierce as ever, and the memories we make when they’re in our arms are all the more precious.
