Simple Joy, Slow Summer
Going into summer, I had this picture in my head of what our summer would look like. I pictured us checking off a summer bucket list, taking picture-perfect photos, and making sweet memories that felt effortless. Part of me longed for a “normal” summer, like the ones I saw other families enjoying.
I knew our normal routine wasn’t going to change, but I wanted to venture out more with my kids this summer, to try some of the popular play spots we usually avoid. I wanted to create new memories and give them more than our usual routine. So one day, we gave it a try, and it ended in overwhelm, meltdowns, and burnout for all of us. I had to come to terms with the fact that what works for other families doesn’t work for us.
When More Became Too Much
One day, I decided to take a chance and visit a children’s museum. They were hosting a sensory-friendly day, and I was excited, hopeful. I thought, this is it. This is going to be our thing. I packed a lunch, brought my sons’ comfort items, and told myself this would be a fun and easygoing kind of day.
As soon as we arrived, a private playground near the building caught his eye, and of course, that’s where he wanted to go. Redirecting him wasn’t easy. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t stay outside and play. I felt the stress start to rise, but I stayed calm, gently guided him inside, and was optimistic.
But as soon as we stepped in, the stimulation hit.
Even on a sensory day, there was still a lot going on. There were toys, exhibits, and activities everywhere- and while that may sound fun, for my child, it was overwhelming. He didn’t know where to start, so he ran from one side of the museum to the other, bouncing from one thing to the next, completely off balance. His body was there, but he wasn’t regulated. I could see him spiraling and felt myself doing the same.
Then came the hardest part: the transition to leave
When they announced the museum was closing, everything unraveled quickly. I had braced myself, but nothing prepares you for that moment. He couldn’t handle the sudden shift. The meltdown hit hard, he cried, he screamed, he resisted, and then in a split second, he was out of his harness and trying to bolt. My heart sank.
I chased him with everything in me, praying under my breath and holding back tears. It was embarrassing and disorienting. When I was finally able to retreat to the car safely, the weight of it all came crashing down. My son was in the backseat, still in meltdown mode- kicking, crying, and struggling to settle. And there I was in the front seat, trying to hold it all together but completely undone and burned out, disappointed, overstimulated, and quietly crying behind the wheel.
Although I had made those plans with my son in mind, deep down I just wanted that memory to be part of our “perfect” summer. I wanted a moment that felt easy. But the truth was that what I thought we needed wasn’t what we needed.
When Less Became More
After that day, I didn’t have the energy to try again. We stayed close to home, no big plans, no pressure, and no packed lunches to worry about. I let go of the summer bucket list and started leaning into what felt peaceful and familiar. That’s when I realized we didn’t need a summer like everyone else had or a summer overflowing with plans and expectations. What we needed and what’s been working for us is simplicity.
It was during the slower, quieter days that the most meaningful memories began to unfold. One afternoon, after a summer rainstorm the night before, my son found his outside toys filled with rainwater. Instead of rushing him or worrying about him getting wet, I just let him play. He splashed and laughed with the kind of joy only a puddle and zero expectations can bring. Another day, we sat as a family, eating watermelon slices someone had gifted us. The juice dripping down our faces, I just took a deep breath and soaked it all in. It didn’t look like much, but it felt like everything. We went back to our favorite inclusive playground, which is familiar, predictable, and peaceful. That works for us; my son knows the rhythm, and I know the boundaries. And those visits gave us way more than any big day out ever could.
None of it was flashy. But all of it was real. And that’s what we’ll remember.
What My Son Has Taught Me
This summer didn’t go the way I imagined, but it went the way it needed to. And my son is a big part of why. He’s taught me that slowing down isn’t wasting time, that joy can be found in puddles, swings, and in eating watermelon. He showed me that I don’t have to force things to make them meaningful. He’s shown me that structure and routine aren’t limitations- they’re safe places. That familiar spaces matter, and that what works for us is good enough. Most of all, he reminded me that presence is more powerful than any plan. I thought I was creating memories for him. But really, he’s the one who gave me a summer full of little moments I’ll always treasure.
What mattered most
In the end, what I’ve come to value the most isn’t the number of activities we did, but the moments that brought us closer together. It’s in the simple, quiet moments when I truly see my son and choose to be present, rather than following a plan. Now, before making plans, I ask myself if they help me be present or add pressure. The true beauty isn’t in perfect plans, but in the grace-filled presence we bring to ordinary moments.,
For The Mom Who Feels Like It’s Never Enough
Lean into the season you’re in, not the one you see someone else is in. Your pace, your family’s rhythm, and your child’s needs-it all matters.
Listen to your children, not just with your ears, but with your whole heart. Notice what lights them up, what calms them down, what overstimulates them, and what draws them close. And just as importantly, listen to your spirit. If you’re tired, slow down. If you’re craving connection, be present in the little things.
Summer doesn’t have to be packed full to be meaningful. Sometimes, the sacred is in the slow. And maybe that’s where your most meaningful memories will be made.