Hello Sweet Friends!

It has been a little while since my last post, and so much life has happened in the spaces between.

I feel like I’m finally emerging from the graduation haze and finding my way back to my writing. This milestone felt different somehow. Not because it was our first time—we celebrated Marin’s high school graduation three years ago—but because this season seemed to require more of us in so many ways.

Not more emotionally. Tucker was more than ready to graduate and take his next steps, and I think that made us ready, too. I didn’t feel sad that this chapter of our family story was closing. Instead, I felt excited for him and incredibly proud. He crossed that finish line fully prepared to step immediately onto the starting line of his next chapter, and what a gift it is as a parent to witness that.

What felt bigger this time was everything leading up to graduation day.

Over the past year, our home has been undergoing a bit of a transformation, and there were still projects I wanted to complete before hosting Tucker’s graduation party. Could I have left them unfinished? Absolutely. Was I going to? Not a chance.

And then there were the gardens.

This past winter was brutal, and our gardens showed every bit of that wear. There was pruning, planting, redesigning, and plenty of TLC needed to get everything celebration-ready.

For months, I carried around a running list of to-dos. If you know me, you know there are few things in life more satisfying than crossing items off a list. One by one, we tackled projects, checked boxes, and somehow managed to get nearly everything done. A few non-essential items were left behind, but there comes a point when you have to wave the white flag in the name of self-care—and I have learned that lesson the hard way.

Then graduation weekend arrived.

It was wonderfully full—from the ceremony itself to all the celebrations that followed. I made a conscious effort to soak in every moment. Being fully present isn’t always my strongest skill. My mind often races ahead to what’s next, but these once-in-a-lifetime moments deserve our full attention, and I tried my best to stay right where my feet were.

Of course, Mother Nature decided to keep things interesting.

It rained for most of the weekend, which is never ideal when you’re hosting an outdoor tented event. Thankfully, just when we needed it most, the rain stopped and the sun made an appearance. It felt like a little gift.

The party was everything I hoped it would be and more.

From beginning to end, it was filled with joy, laughter, and love. Tucker has surrounded himself with truly wonderful people, and seeing so many of them show up to celebrate him was incredibly special. As parents, there is nothing better than watching your child be loved well by the people in their life.

My heart was overflowing.

My body, however, had other plans.

After days of preparing, hosting, celebrating, and being completely “on,” I crashed. Hard. I knew it was coming—I just didn’t realize how much the physical and emotional investment had taken out of me. Looking back, it makes perfect sense. I poured my heart and soul into every detail, every project, every flower planted, every table set, and every moment celebrated.

Because here’s the thing…

You only get one high school graduation for each kiddo.

And when it comes to celebrating the people we love most, I’ve always believed in going big or going home.

This time, we definitely went big—and I wouldn’t change a thing.

With graduation season firmly behind us, summer has officially arrived—my favorite time of year.

Lately, I’ve been seeing the “90’s Summer” trend everywhere. You know the one. A return to slower days, less scheduling, fewer screens, and more simple fun. A longing for the way summers used to feel.

But honestly? I want to go back even farther.

Take me back to an early 1980s summer.

Back to when I was little and every day felt like an adventure waiting to happen. Back when neighborhood playdates weren’t scheduled, coordinated, or even called playdates. They just happened. Naturally. Organically. Effortlessly.

Growing up in the suburbs during that time was pretty idyllic.

Our street was filled with young families, and most of the moms were home during the day. We ran a little wild, in the very best way. Each morning we’d head outside and somehow all end up together. By lunchtime, whichever mom’s house we landed at became the gathering spot.

The moms created their own little village.

One would bring hot dogs, another would bring buns, someone else would show up with chips, fruit, or popsicles. Looking back, they weren’t just feeding us. They were building community. They were creating a support system for one another while giving us memories that would last a lifetime.

Our play was imaginative, active, and wonderfully messy.

Swing sets became castles. Playhouses transformed into restaurants, schools, and imaginary worlds. Giant sandboxes entertained us for hours as we built roads, towns, and elaborate creations only kids could dream up.

A trip to the neighborhood pool felt like a major event, but honestly, most of our summer days were spent in backyards. Sprinklers. Slip ‘N Slides. Plastic pools. Popsicles melting faster than we could eat them.

Simple things. The best things.

And then there were the garages.

Our garages became theaters and performance spaces. The older kids would direct elaborate productions while the rest of us followed along. Many of those performances were set to the GREASE soundtrack because, for some reason, we were all completely obsessed.

We sang every word.

We danced our hearts out.

And of course, costumes were essential.

Most of us had dance recital costumes hanging in our closets because nearly every girl in the neighborhood took lessons at one of the two dance studios nearby. Those costumes got plenty of mileage long after recital season ended.

Bike riding, roller skating, Big Wheels, and endless games up and down the street filled our days. We were outside constantly. It wasn’t something we thought about—it was simply how we lived.

When it rained or the Ohio heat became too much, we’d migrate to a neighbor’s basement.

One family had an old-school jukebox, and to this day it remains one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen. They taught us how to use it, and we’d spend hours dancing, singing, and pretending we were stars. That memory remains one of my absolute favorites.

We’d eventually collapse into a pile of kids on the floor, watching movies on a tiny television. I’m pretty sure that basement is where I first watched Raiders of the Lost Ark.

As I sit here typing this, memory after memory keeps flooding back.

The sounds. The smells. The freedom. The friendships. The simplicity.

Maybe that’s why this “90’s Summer” trend resonates with so many people right now. I think we’re all craving a little less noise and a little more connection. A little less structure and a little more imagination.

We miss the days when fun didn’t require a reservation, an app, or a packed schedule.

Those 80s summers weren’t perfect, but they were beautifully simple.

And maybe that’s exactly what we’re all looking for again.

Our family has officially reached a brand-new milestone: no more kiddos in our suburban school district.

You know what? I thought I would be much more emotional about it.

But honestly, it feels really, really good.

Marc and I have completed a major chapter of our parenting journey. We watched both kids make their way through K-12, learning, growing, accomplishing, stumbling, succeeding, and becoming exactly who they were meant to be. That’s something worth celebrating.

We are incredibly fortunate to have raised our family in a school district that offered so much—not only for our kids, but for us as parents as well. The teachers, staff, opportunities, activities, and experiences helped shape these years in meaningful ways, and for that I will always be grateful.

Now, will I miss the constant communication? The updates? The endless reminders?

Let’s just say I am thankful for all of it…but I won’t miss the multiple emails landing in my inbox every single day.

This summer feels different in the very best way.

There is a new hum in our house.

Marin is spending her summer interning at a local PR firm, gaining real-world experience and doing work she loves. Tucker is building his landscaping business, working hard, serving clients, and creating something of his own. Watching them step into adulthood and take ownership of their next chapters has been such a joy.

Marc and I couldn’t be more proud.

As much as I loved the school-aged years, I am genuinely enjoying this transition. I wasn’t quite sure how I would feel when this season ended, but what I’ve realized is that there is so much excitement in watching your children grow into themselves.

Maybe that’s why letting go of what was has felt easier than I expected.

The past will always hold some of our favorite memories, but watching the kids become who they were created to be is one of life’s greatest gifts.

And right now, this new chapter feels pretty wonderful.

I am absolutely the person who will take on all the projects.

If I can do it myself, I will. If I don’t know how to do it, I’ll figure it out. And if there isn’t a clear way to make it happen, I’ll probably create my own.

Hiring someone is almost always my last resort.

Now, does that mean some of these projects are hard? Absolutely. Do some of them take way longer than expected? Also yes. Would it occasionally be easier to write a check and let someone else handle it? Probably.

But at this moment, I am capable, and there is something in me that loves the challenge.

I love learning a new skill. I love solving problems. I love taking an idea that exists only in my head and bringing it to life with my own two hands.

And if we’re being honest, there is a level of satisfaction that comes from standing back and looking at the finished project knowing, “I did that.”

Not because it was perfect.

Not because it was easy.

But because I was willing to learn, work, adapt, and see it through.

Whether it’s inside the house, out in the garden, or some random project I convinced myself I could tackle, the process is almost as rewarding as the finished product.

Almost.

Because seeing the final result and knowing it came from your own vision, effort, and determination? That feeling never gets old.