As I sat by the lake one evening with my friend Jenna, watching our kids splash and play, she posed a heartfelt question: “Is this the last summer like this?” Her 11-year-old was perfecting her swim stroke, making her way to the floating dock with her dad by her side, cheering her on. Meanwhile, her teenager lounged in a beach chair, engrossed in a book, while our 5-year-olds delighted in the kiddie pool. My toddler was busy transferring sand from a bulldozer to a bucket, then dumping it all back out—classic toddler behavior.
I quickly replied, “No, no, there will be plenty more summers like this!” But deep down, I understood her sentiment. The reality is that next summer, her teenager will be off to college, and this may very well be the last year her younger daughter chooses to swim with family instead of hanging out with the older kids. Our 5-year-olds will soon be ready to conquer the floating dock on their own, and my little one will be learning to swim before we know it.
Next summer, things will undoubtedly be different. My 2-year-old won’t need as many piggyback rides, and the days of strangers cooing at him as a baby will be long gone. Our five-year-olds will start to stretch out, their little faces becoming more mature. I’ll catch glimpses of my tall boy’s ankles and realize it’s time for a new wardrobe. They might start asking about those naughty words they hear or exhibit the first signs of pre-tween grumpiness. They could be raiding the pantry for snacks instead of asking for one, or they might not even need to be tucked in at night anymore.
By next summer, I might find myself being called “Mom” instead of “Mama.” We could be saying goodbye to diapers and strollers, and our travel plans may well revolve around school schedules. In just a few summers, our older son may prefer camp over our cherished lake-house getaway.
“What if, once she’s in college,” Jenna mused, “she wants to come home for the summers? What if this is the last time all our kids are on this trip together?” My friend Tom, who is preparing to send his only child off to college, said, “This is the last summer I’ll have a kid at home, period.”
Being a parent gives you a unique perspective on time—like you’re seeing into the future. You realize that the older generation won’t always be gathered around the dinner table, and the younger ones won’t always fit on your lap. You know that time moves only forward, even during the long, sun-drenched days of July. You become aware that this is indeed the last summer exactly like this.
As I sit here, on the final night of our vacation, I can hear the cicadas signaling the end of summer. My boys are giggling away, despite it being well past their bedtime. They still want to share a room, still eager to chat and play long into the night. Is this the last summer they’ll want to bunk together? Is it the last time they’ll find sparklers enchanting or fireflies magical?
Summer is our favorite season—our longest break from the hectic morning rush and the chaotic dinner routines. It’s a time filled with fleeting moments that cause my heart to seize, knowing that time is slipping away like water through my fingers as my boys grow taller and older. One of these summers, they’ll be grown and possibly won’t even be here, leaving my husband and me to listen to the cicadas alone.
Parenting sharpens your vision: you can see what’s ahead, like a modern-day Cassandra, but you’re not alone in this realization. Every parent feels it too. You know that the moments you cherish won’t last forever. You know that this is the last summer just like this.
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Summary
This reflection captures the bittersweet realization that each summer brings changes as children grow. It explores the fleeting nature of family moments and the inevitability of change, reminding us to savor the present while acknowledging the future.