From One Mama to Another, Vol 1

Volume 1: “Even After the 18th Summer”
by Jenna, Mom of 3 – FloridaSubmitted by Jenna, mom of 3 – Florida

“You only get 18 summers.” We’ve all seen it going around. And while it may be chronologically true, the idea behind it is actually a lie.

Our oldest leaves for college in August. We won’t stop parenting or making memories just because she’s a young adult now. Everyone’s advice seems to place the most value on the years when they’re little—but that’s usually when life is the craziest, and you’re mostly just trying to survive each day.

There’s this quiet, unspoken guilt. Guilt if you’re “wasting” those years by working. Guilt if you choose to spend time with your spouse or friends instead of family movie night. But while raising kids through early childhood is very special, getting to know the older versions of your kids is also amazing.

Filling water cups and handing out snacks turns into thoughtful questions and real conversations. Physical presence may no longer mean snuggles, but it might look like sitting next to them in comfortable silence—and both are equally important.

Yes, the emptiness of her room will be palpable. A piece of our family will feel like it’s missing. But we are beaming with pride and fully soaking in the excitement she holds for this next chapter.

Our kids growing up is not the end of parenting. It’s nothing to be afraid of. A calendar limit on parenting doesn’t exist. While time may be a thief, it doesn’t steal the simple love or the quality of time we spend with them when we can.

Don’t buy into the idea that you’re missing your child’s only chance to make memories with you just because it’s summer. Parent guilt is too much sometimes. I’ve learned it’s not that serious. Just be there.

Important moments happen all year long—in the car on the way to school, heading to another game or dance class. At the dinner table when everyone happens to be home once or twice a week. Or for older kids, around 10:00 at night when they wander downstairs for a snack.

Our kids don’t clock the minutes. They clock the memories.

Even after the 18th summer.

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FAB Mamas Collective

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