Seasons of Change: A Summer of Memories, Growth, and Gratitude

By Alison

“What we once enjoyed and deeply loved we can never lose, for all that we love deeply becomes part of us.”

— Helen Keller

Seasons of Change: A Summer of Memories, Growth, and Gratitude

There’s something magical about the changing of seasons. As summer fades and fall gently begins to settle in, you can feel the difference in the air and the energy. The days grow a little shorter, the evenings a little cooler, and the energy seems to shift all around you. For me, the change of seasons always brings a moment of reflection—an invitation to pause and notice what has unfolded and how life has shifted since the last season.

At the start of summer, I’ll be honest: I was nervous. The idea of having my children home with me full time was both exciting and overwhelming. Some parents dream of spending every waking moment with their kids, soaking in the laughter, the mess, the chaos, and the love. For me, it was unfamiliar territory. Especially since it was just me and the children and not a spouse to help tag team the mayhem.

When they were babies, I did stay home with them for a few months, and back then, it felt much easier. They couldn’t talk back, they didn’t fight with each other, they didn’t need to be constantly entertained, and didn’t have to worry about whether they loved or hated chicken nuggets today. I was simply wrapped in the bliss of new motherhood. But as they grew, life took on a different rhythm. Both my husband and I worked full time, so the children were always in child care. That became their normal, and truthfully, it became mine too.

This summer, though, was different. Suddenly, I was stepping onto a new road, one I had never traveled before. There was a mixture of excitement and unease. I wanted my kids to have a fun summer, to make memories, and to build a stronger bond with each other. I wanted them to enjoy being siblings—not just in passing moments after school or on weekends, but in the everyday, ordinary hours that stretch across long summer days.

And while the kids were thrilled to be staying home with me, my mind kept circling around the question: Would I be able to handle it?

The Rough Start

No joke—the beginning of summer was rough. My children weren’t used to being around each other 24/7. Sibling rivalries came out quickly and there were tears every day and some of those tears were from me. There were fights over the television, constant arguments about activities, and endless bickering because my youngest believes, with his whole heart, that he is destined to be a WWE wrestler. I often found myself in the role of referee, cook, maid, and nurse, trying to keep the peace while juggling everything else.

It didn’t take long for me to realize that what we needed was structure. Children thrive on schedules (so do I), on knowing what’s coming next. Without it, we were all floundering. So, I decided to start holding a family meeting each morning. We’d gather together, review what the day would look like, and answer any questions. It gave us a moment of connection before the chaos began.

To my surprise, the kids loved it. They enjoyed knowing what was ahead, and they especially loved being part of the planning. I would ask them what activities they wanted to do that week or if there were any special outings they hoped for. Suddenly, our days had a rhythm with a lot less fighting.

Finding Our Rhythm

Those first few weeks were filled to the brim. We had swim lessons every morning, which rolled into hours spent at the pool. We made weekly trips to the library, stacked up with new books. I worked with the kids on daily schoolwork—reading, writing, and math—to keep their skills sharp. Sports filled our evenings with baseball practices, cheer practice, and flag football.

Was it perfect? Not even close. The fighting didn’t disappear—especially with my little wrestler in the mix—but there was a noticeable shift. The kids started to understand one another better. They started to learn boundaries and how to work through conflicts. And I started to see them in a new way—not just as my children, but as little people with their own personalities, quirks, and ways of navigating the world.

There were still challenging days, of course. Days when I felt drained, when the noise, the tears, and the arguing seemed endless, when I longed for just a moment of 5 minute of alone time and peace. But then there were days filled with belly laughs at the pool, moments of pride when one of them read a book out loud, or the sweetness of watching them all fall asleep after a long day of play.

Lessons in Presence

Looking back, I can see that the summer was a mix of ups and downs—but more than anything, it was full of memories. For the first time, we were together 98% of the time, with a babysitter that came once a week for 4-5 hours, so I can have ‘my time’ while running errands or grabbing lunch. It wasn’t easy. We had to learn each other’s habits, adjust to each other’s rhythms, and respect one another’s boundaries. It stretched us all.

But it also showed me the beauty of presence. For so many years, our family life was dominated by work. My husband, David, and I both worked full time and made good money—six figures a year each—but somewhere along the way, we realized that money wasn’t what mattered most. What mattered were the memories, the love we shared, and the time we spent together.

We often talked about one of us quitting our job so that we could be more present with the kids. We dreamed of afternoons at the park, family dinners without rushing, vacations that weren’t squeezed into a tight schedule. We were so close to making that leap—only months away. But then David passed away, and that dream never became reality for us.

Carrying the Dream Forward

This summer, I felt that dream come to life in a new way. Even though David wasn’t here physically, I carried his heart, his hopes with me, and felt his presence in our children. Every trip to the library, every splash in the pool, every late-night family meeting—it all felt like a way of honoring the dream we once shared.

I often caught myself wishing he could see the kids this way: laughing together, arguing and then making up, discovering new books, practicing their sports, simply being kids. He would have loved it. He would have been proud.

And though there was grief woven into those moments, there was also immense gratitude. I am grateful for the gift of time with my children. I am grateful for the lessons they’ve taught me about patience, resilience, and joy. And I am grateful to know that even in David’s absence, the love we shared continues to guide me.