Transitions, Endings, and New Beginnings

🌻 A garden, two giggles, and a mama’s heart full. Ready (almost) for what’s next. 💛

Man oh man, what a week. Honestly, what a summer. I was telling my therapist on Friday that I always think I’ll get downtime, but somehow life just stays on “go, go, go.” I’ve been told I thrive in chaos, and maybe that’s true — but let me tell you, I’m tired. A good kind of tired, the kind that comes after squeezing every drop out of the season, but tired nonetheless.

And now comes the break. Or, really, a bittersweet pause. Tomorrow my babies — Abigail and Samuel — will be leaving with their dad for two weeks. Fourteen whole days. They’ve never been away from me or home for that long before. I keep telling myself it will be good for me to rest, but wow… my heart already feels the stretch of their absence.

By the time they come back, Abigail will go to bed, wake up, and walk straight into a new school year. Second grade. How did we get here so fast? And Samuel’s right behind her — one more year of daycare, and then no more “babies” in my house. They bathe themselves, they go to the bathroom on their own. Sure, they still need me for spider duty and nighttime snuggles, but more and more, I’m realizing they’re growing into their own people. It’s both beautiful and a little heartbreaking.

A Summer of Firsts

This summer has been a season of “firsts.” Abigail finished her second year at camp last week, and when Friday rolled around, she cried at pickup. She told me she was going to miss her counselors so much. My mama heart melted — it was proof of how deeply she loves and how fully she throws herself into every experience.

Then came Saturday — her 7th birthday party. Fairy-themed, in our backyard, with a bouncy house, friends, cousins, and way too much sugar. I planned this party for weeks, and when I tell you I logged 11,460 steps in just four hours, I mean it. Hosting is a full-contact sport. I was everywhere at once, making sure everyone had food, drinks, and fun. I probably overdo it sometimes, but that’s who I am — when I host, I host.

And in the middle of it all came a milestone I wasn’t expecting to hit just yet: Abigail’s first haircut.

For seven years, her hair was her crown — long, wavy, and past her waist. The detangling battles, though? Brutal. Traumatic, honestly, for both of us. I had booked a salon appointment for Friday after camp, but Thursday night, after celebrating her dad’s birthday, she came home and looked me square in the eye: “Mom, I don’t want you to brush it anymore. I’m ready for the big chop.”

Secretly? I was thrilled. Everyone else in the family gasped and protested, but I was counting the minutes. So we FaceTimed her dad, I grabbed the scissors, and snip snip snip — seven years of hair hit the floor. And you know what? She beamed. She strutted into camp the next morning with her new bob, standing taller, grinning from ear to ear. Her counselors screamed and hugged her like she was a celebrity. I just stood back and thought: This is seven. This is what it looks like to grow into yourself.

Funny enough, I didn’t even cry. Not a tear. I felt her joy and rode that wave with her. The real emotional haircut moment for me was actually Samuel’s first trim a few months back. Go figure.

A Party, A Chop, and A Whole Lot of Joy

Saturday’s fairy party was a hit — laughter everywhere, kids bouncing until they collapsed, and not a single meltdown (which feels like a miracle). Even I got to soak it in, though I was basically sprinting from one end of the yard to the other. By Sunday, though, we were all ready to just be.

We went to church in the morning, then headed to the sunflower fields, then lunch at our favorite restaurant (shrimp quesadillas for me, chicken nuggets and fries for them), and finished with ice cream before heading home. By the time we were curled up on the couch watching Freaky Friday and The Parent Trap (yes, the Lindsay Lohan versions — I’m slowly trying to pass down the classics of my generation), I felt it in my bones: tired, yes, but deeply happy.

Letting Go (At Least For Two Weeks)

Tonight, as I write this with the kids sprawled out beside me, I feel like this whole summer was one big lesson in transitions. From the last day of camp, to the first haircut, to birthdays, to quiet movie nights at home. Each moment has been a reminder that motherhood is just a series of beginnings and endings — holding on, letting go, and learning to ride the waves.

Tomorrow, when Abigail and Samuel head off for their two weeks with their dad, I know I’ll miss them like crazy. The silence in the house will feel heavy. But I also know this: I need to learn how to rest, too. To sit in my own company. To recharge, so that when they come back, I’m ready for another season of “go, go, go.”

This summer wasn’t perfect. There were ups and downs, frustrations, even tears. But when I look back, I’ll remember the laughter, the sunflower fields, the bouncy house, the ice cream drips, and the joy of seeing my little ones grow.

And that’s what matters.

Here’s to transitions, to endings, to beginnings — and to trusting that every season, no matter how messy, holds its own kind of magic.

💛—Rochelly