School’s out, summer’s officially here, and I’m experiencing my annual childish geek-out for all the summery things I want to attempt with my kids. Having more time to read is of course on my list, but herein lies the problem with my summer book picks every year–my eyes get bigger than my stomach, so to speak, and when I shoot for too many books, I get overwhelmed. So I’m limiting my summer reading aspirations this year to these four books and will hopefully have this whittled down to only taking two on our road trip.

Eunice: The Kennedy Who Changed the World
This just came out in April, but I’ve been waiting for it all year. Reading about a Kennedy is always fascinating, but Eunice? She’s my favorite.

Venture Girls: Raising Girls to be Tomorrow’s Leaders
I got this recommendation from Meg Conley (fun to follow on IG!). It’s super informative (some of the facts on women in the workplace will shock you) with great guidance on raising strong, resilient girls.

The God of Small Things
The writing is simply exquisite, so meaty with poetic descriptions, I find myself rereading sentences over and over just to experience the beauty and digest the descriptions word by word.

Educated
My friend loaned this memoir to me after she said she devoured it.

For the Kids

Without even thinking about it, we are so much more intentional in the summer about doing things we love–reading in bed together, lake picnics, taking days slow and easy. I love following seasonal themes with our picks for kid lit, and there are so many great children’s books that capture the magic of summer both in illustrations and poetic descriptions of picnics and fireflies and the stickiness on a hot, humid night. I also like to find new books to bring on our road trip to make things special and preferably books that are available in paperback to keep our packing light. Here’s a few we’re taking to Michigan with us this year (I already have them packed away for the trip):

The Heart and Mind of Frances Pauley
I love to read a chapter book with Lainey in the summer. Last year, we read A Wrinkle in Time together. This year, we’re reading this new book about a girl who’s a little bit odd coming into adolescence. The reviews enticed me–beautiful lessons on accepting others, finding your own voice at that age, grief, etc.

Rebel Girls
We’re borrowing this book from a friend for the summer, but everything we’ve heard about it is fantastic (we’ve listened to the podcast as well and love it). It’s a great book for reading one short account a night together.

Pie is for Sharing
The perfect picture book for summer with stunning illustrations of a July 4 picnic and lessons on sharing.

The Storm Book
I got this book to help Nella with her storm anxiety (we also got Patricia Pollaco’s Thundercake). It completely captures the beauty of a summer storm in detailed descriptions: “Each crash of thunder sounds as though the rocks of the mountains were splitting apart, but each flash of lightning show them solid and quiet against the sky.”

Summer Story
We are big Brambly Hedge fans and get lost in the imaginary world of these little mice. If you love the world of Peter Rabbit, you’ll love the summer adventures of these mice.

Roxaboxen
This beautiful tale tells of a special place where all the children gather in summer and let their imaginations run wild. It captures children’s wild imaginations and ability to entertain themselves with the simplest things (long before devices).

Just Being Jackie
My friend Margaret (who wrote Just Being Audrey) released this gorgeous new children’s book last month, telling the story of Jackie O. The illustrations are so charming!

Ice Cream: The Full Scoop I love a good non-fiction picture book, and this one is also available in paperback. It’s full of lots of interesting facts about America’s favorite summer treat and the history of how it came to be.

Happy Page-turning!

With this last much needed break from the flurry of end-of-the-year responsibilities this past weekend, I finally had some time to edit some photos and reflect on the last few weeks of celebrations. After a particularly emotional preschool drop-off last week, realizing this school will no longer be a part of our family’s lives, I told Brett, “It feels like somebody pulled a lever on our family’s time. Everything that has been going in normal time for the last ten years seems to be speeding up–like double time–and I feel like one of those singers who’s trying to sing along with a song, but the band is playing way faster than I can sing. It’s all off and I don’t know how to get it back in sync.”

“I’ve done this before,” Brett reminded me, “and I’m sorry to tell you, if you think this is fast, wait until they’re older. When your voice can’t keep up with the band, just listen to the music and enjoy it.”

Lately, this is what it sounds like:

Eleven years celebrated. Where parties look less like organized crafts and themed snacks and more like a swarm of giggling girls weaseling through stores in search of the next scavenger hunt clue.

After an hour of scavenger hunt fun, Lainey and her friends ended at a restaurant where all the girls sat at their own table with no need for entertainment or guidance from me. And from the little nearby table where my dad and I enjoyed our own night together, I watched and felt just as awestruck and in love with this next phase of her life as I have felt over watching her smear frosting from her smash cake all over tiny cheeks. She requested a “rat cake,” and baby gets the cake she wants.

Dash handled his celebration a little more stoically, managing to pull off a full graduation ceremony and class vocal performance without, I believe, a single facial expression or attempt to sing along.

Wait, I take that back. He summoned a yawn, perfectly coordinated with his whole “This isn’t a real graduation, and you know it” act.

In other school celebrations (and there’s more this week!)…

Lainey finished her end-of-the-year research paper and delivered the most beautiful speech (memorized) as Eunice Kennedy Shriver in her school’s Hall of Americans event.

As for the music of life I can’t seem to keep up with, I’m practicing listening and listening well, and summer’s when I do it best.

One of the things that makes our summer so special and heightens this wholehearted enjoyment of what the season delivers is our anticipation of summer and the little plans we are making now to make this summer amazing. I’ve been reading about the importance of delayed gratification lately–how our culture has lost so much of it with instant access to everything. In A Book That Takes Its Time (so good, by the way. Keep it on your nightstand forever), the Dutch author Mark Mieras (studied the neurobiology of craving) is quoted, “Because of ubiquitous instant gratification, something paradoxical happened in our society. Because we have so little time to long for something, there is a kind of restlessness in our lives which leads to us enjoying ourselves less.”

Planning for summer adventures, talking about them and hyping up the wait for delicious summer pleasures is one of my favorite things to do all year, and I know it plays a role in how much we love these next two months. From our summer bucket list to the growing stack in my office of special things we’re saving to pack on our road trip, we’re drawing out enjoyment slowly and purposefully. Besides, there’s plenty available to us while we wait…

Like Memorial Day weekend sparkler parties…

Sunday afternoon trips to the ice cream shop…

Opportunities for summer twinnin’…

Weekend make sessions (summer hair clips, made out of Sculpey clay)…

And so much more.

One more week, and our summer begins.

Happy Monday!

Dear Teachers,

Thanks to Hurricane Irma and a rearranged state testing schedule, during the week our holiday calendar sets aside to celebrate you, you were preoccupied with important testing duties and school responsibilities that held back our festivities. But now, with the end of the year upon us, I wanted to take the opportunity to write something for you because this year’s closing feels a bit more emotional and lately, I can’t stop thinking about what you each mean to our family.

I turn 40 later this year. With it, I have acquired a few gray hairs, thank God some wisdom, more confidence in my skin and countless cherished memories, including ones from years when I too spent my days teaching other people’s children while dreaming of my own. But today, I want to note the important acquisition of over 2,200 handoffs. Six years, three children, twelve teachers and 2,200 mornings of getting them ready and walking them to a door where I hand them off to you and then turn around, trusting that the things that mean most to me in life are safe in your care. I admit, the first few of those handoffs were really more extractions, and I apologize. I guess it only takes a few times of parking a helicopter before noting that a fast-moving car is the more emotionally responsible form of school transport.

I’ve been asked, “What do you do if your child has a bad teacher?” And while I’m sure they’re out there, I’m so grateful to say we’ve never had one. Each of you has gone so far beyond your job requirements to nurture, teach and know my children, I hardly know how to thank you. As a teacher, I fully recognize the time commitment it takes to be the kind of teacher you are. And as a parent, I want you to know that the things you each have done for our children have made a remarkable impact on our family and will never be forgotten. The people our children will be someday–the confidence and belief they’ll have in themselves, the bravery they’ll demonstrate in attempting hard things and the kindness they’ll give to the world around them…I want you to see it someday so that you can feel pride in knowing you helped create that beautiful thing.

I want you to know that I will never forget the night one of you asked if it was okay to stop by and then knocked on my door after her particularly rough day. I want you to know that I held back tears when I opened the door to see you standing there, holding a pint of ice cream and two spoons, and you said, “Where is she?”

I want you to know that in those IEP meetings when sometimes it felt intimidating and overwhelming, when I saw you, I felt like I was home.

I want you to know that so many texts were fired off to my family this year, telling them about the things you are doing, the ways you show you cared, the life lesson you took the time to impart. Each of you are legends in our family’s eyes. My parents and siblings–even the ones in other states–know your names because you are talked about in beautiful ways. What you do matters so much.

Of the 2,200 handoffs I’ve made, I want you to know one that stands out this year. I will never forget dropping off my children the morning after the Parkland shooting. I could see it in a lot of parents’ eyes–we were heartbroken, we were stunned, we were all imagining what those other parents were feeling. I wish I could say these things didn’t cross my mind, but I’ve thought about the layout of the school, the locks on the doors, how long it would take me to get there from home. I want you to know that the only thing that brought any peace to these visions was you. I pictured you hugging my child because I know you would. I imagined your calm voice and your assurring presence. I knew deep in my heart that while your job should not require it, you would stand in harm’s way to make sure my child back got back in my arms that night.

I want to thank each of you for the texts you sent this year–the “I think she’s a little off today” ones or the pictures of him smiling or the “She did it! She did it!” texts because your excitement for her accomplishment was so near my own mom pride, it couldn’t wait for an e-mail at the end of the day.

Thank you for being tough on them–for expecting them to reach their potential, for setting their standards high. That belief in them is nothing short of true love.

Thank you for your creativity. For scrambling to come up with new ways of teaching and assessing when you realized one way wasn’t working. I will remember each of your smiles as you excitedly told me, “I have an idea…” I will hang on to that smile and use it in my parenting–to hold true to the hope that there are so many different ways to stir up the beautiful things that are in my child.

Thank you for extending this creativity and support and belief to all of your students. I’ve seen you do it. I know we are not the only ones. Watching you each talk about your students is like watching a mom–I know you love them. I know you won’t ever give up on them.

I want you to know that I know your job is hard–that summers off are nothing compared to the heart you bring when you’re there. I want you to know that when you’re turning your classroom lights off at 9 pm because you stayed late to plan, or when you cry at home because you’re tired and you can’t keep up, or when later this summer you open those test scores that don’t measure 90% of what your job is, I see you. And I’ve noticed every single effort you’ve taken this year to support and love my child.

Next week, there will be one last handoff. And then you’ll give them back to me for the summer. Your names will be spoken throughout the summer. And someday, years from now, I will watch my children walk across stages, accept jobs, fall in love, go through really hard times and hold true to who they are and what they are capable of…and I will think of you. I will send you a silent little thank you, wherever you are in the world, for being part of this great adventure.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.