Small-town summers are simple, loud, and holy in their own way.
There's a piece of me that hates watching my girls grow up. Somehow I have a teenager now (which makes absolutely no sense because I'm pretty sure I'm only 25...or at least that's what my knees tell me until I go for a run).
But then there are evenings like last night.
It's 9:00 p.m. We're all still piled into the living room together. Around 10:00 we all wander off to bed, and somehow my girls are the ones tucking us in instead of the other way around.
Then morning comes.
Gone are the 4:00 a.m. wake-up calls from tiny humans ready to conquer the world. Now it's 9:00 a.m., the house is quiet, and my husband and I are wondering if the girls are still alive because no one has even rolled over yet.
Slow summer mornings.
Coffee in hand. Bible open. Quiet house.
That's small-town living.
Nothing opens before 10:00 anyway. If it's warm enough, the pool doesn't open until 11:00. So mornings are made for three-mile walks, playground adventures, and taking our time.
Even in summer, we've found our rhythm.
Tuesdays mean lunch at the park through the free lunch program. Thursdays are for the library because routine matters, especially for our oldest, N. She thrives when she knows what's coming, and a predictable week helps her feel safe.
Mondays and Wednesdays belong to softball. Dad coaches. Mom gets voluntold to help wherever she's needed. Sisters jump in however they can.
This week looks something like this:
Monday: Church work in the morning and a softball game 30 minutes away that evening.
Tuesday: Lunch at the park and an afternoon outside.
Wednesday: Double-header softball games—the last ones of the season.
Thursday: Library books, lunch at the park, and one more slow afternoon together.
Friday: Our reset day. Usually nothing planned except the occasional worship team practice.
I've learned something over the years, especially parenting a sparkly-brained kid, a spicy-brained kid, and our little royal princess.
Life doesn't have to be packed full to be full.
Yes, we're busy. There's usually somewhere to be. But we don't have to rush through every moment just because the calendar has something written on it.
We can still take the three-mile walks.
Spend an afternoon at the lake.
Turn on the sprinkler and practice softball barefoot in the yard.
Roller skate on the driveway.
Sit outside just because the sun is shining.
Summer was never meant to be a race.
It's for sun-kissed skin, softball bats, sprinklers, sleeping in, staying up late, dyed hair, painted toes, and backyard memories that somehow become the stories our kids tell years from now.
If I'm being honest, I've been a little scared of this season of motherhood. Bigger kids mean fewer firsts and more lasts.
But I'm beginning to realize that growing up doesn't mean the magic disappears.
It just looks different.
And I have a feeling these are going to be some of our favorite summers yet.
Here's to slower mornings, fuller hearts, and finding God's goodness in the ordinary. Happy Mama Monday. ❤️
XOXO Whitney