One is heading to middle school in August. The other? HIGH SCHOOL. I repeat: high. school. If someone could just hit the pause button or invent a slow-mo mode for life, I’d be forever grateful. Or mildly coherent. Either would be great.

Cue the emotional whiplash.

On one hand, I’m bursting with pride — look at these capable, intelligent, independence seeking little humans we’ve raised! On the other hand, I’m over here ugly-crying into my beverage because my babies are officially not babies anymore. And as much as I love watching them grow, could they maybe, just maybe, do it at a slightly less aggressive pace?

We’ve officially entered the “lasts” and “firsts” season. Last elementary school field day. First time picking electives. Last time using glue sticks. First time stressing over lockers and padlocks. It’s like a highlight reel of growing up mixed with a blooper reel of parental denial. I’m fine. This is fine.

And now comes summer — aka the season of increased activity, rapidly multiplying snack consumption, and calendars that look like we’ve taken on part-time jobs as event planners. We’re prepping for camps, vacations, sleepovers, family gatherings, sports practices, 4-H, and that one annual tradition where I swear I’ll “stay organized this year” and then promptly lose the sunscreen by day two.

Despite the chaos, we’re trying to be intentional. We’re squeezing in the moments: the spontaneous ice cream runs, the late-night movies, the endless car rides where I get updates about The Show 25, crushes, and what the cafeteria pizza really tastes like. Because deep down, we know these days — the loud, silly, beautiful ones — are numbered. And while I might joke (frequently) about wanting a break, the truth is, I wouldn’t trade this season for anything. Except maybe a self-loading dishwasher.

So CHEERS to soaking up the sun, the milestones, the mismatched socks, and all the wild, wonderful moments in between. We’re doing our best to slow it all down — even if it means taking mental snapshots mid-meltdown.

To my soon-to-be middle schooler and high schooler: I’m in awe of you. I’m excited for you. I’m slightly terrified for me. But, I’m honored to be the mom cheering from the sidelines for you.

Now excuse me while I go cry into the last elementary school art project before we’re officially arguing about algebra and homecoming.

Summer 2025: Let the games begin.