18 summers…

And just like that, summer 2026 is over.

Yesterday was Labor Day, and school started back. We ended the summer with a concert with my older kids, water slides, late-night basketball, and time at the pool with family.

It felt like a long goodbye.

Nothing dramatic. I just had this feeling that somehow, without realizing it, this was a summer I would miss forever.

I’ve can’t stand those “you only get 18 summers” memes.

They feel like a countdown I don't want to watch.

But this year I saw one that said something different:

Maybe we don't have 18 summers to fill with memories. Maybe we have 18 summers to fill with so much love and trust that they always want to come home.

This summer we traveled. We stayed up late. We went to the pool. We spent time together.

There were days when the sibling fighting and burned-out mom collided spectacularly.

And somehow, even with the chaos, I am going to miss it.

Maybe that's why the end of summer feels a little heavy.

It only hurts because we love it so much.

So maybe we don't get 18 summers with them.

Maybe we get 18 summers to build something that lasts much longer.

A place they can leave.

A place they can grow.

And, if we've done it right (or done the best we can), a place they will always want to come home to.

Maybe we don't get 18 summers to keep them. Maybe we get 18 summers to make home worth coming back to.