It’s the last day of school for my kiddos.

About this time every year, I look longingly at pending summer and I am giddy.

I can’t wait to unplug the alarm clocks and sleep-in, eat powdered sugar donuts from the bag, live in our swimsuits, let my kids sleep in the fort made from bedsheets and make 27 varieties of popsicles.

Once those things are checked off our list, it’s generally Summer: Day 2.

Before the end of July, I can’t get my kids out of bed, they won’t stay out of the pantry, they are chaffed from all the swimsuit-wearing, my “good sheets” are filthy and the floors are sticky from all the sugary frozen ice and I’m on a countdown for school to start.

Don’t get me wrong, I love love love summer with my kids. We create memories that last forever and want it to be summer all year long (at least that first week), but I learned a long time ago, that reality is well, reality. And there can be too much of a good thing.

I know I’m a great mom and I don’t need a summer to tell me that. But I want to live this summer without regrets and I plan to do so by following these simple thoughts:

1. Say yes as often as possible- Yes, you can paint your toenails everyday a different color. Please do it here _____because it’s easier to clean up. Yes, you can hook up the hose the trampoline and create your own water park while tossing grapes in your mouth. Yes, you can have ice cream for lunch.
2. Refuse to over-schedule- but get into a routine that works for your family. The beauty of summer as a child is the freedom to be carefree with days to do whatever. But at the same time, at our house we need a routine of good choices. For example, our default is the public swimming pool, library and $1 movie days or a crafty project. On a week we do nothing, we might do all 3 or none of these, but they are options when we start picking on each other. I like to give my kids time to do nothing!
3. Be impulsive and creative-some of the best memories are from our spontaneity. I’m not so good at this (insert Type A), but if I listen to my kids, their impulsive ideas are often good ones, even when it means there’s a mess. Messy moments are often the best.
4. Don’t be a tour guide- Kids don’t have to constantly entertained. We usually install a reading hour every day during the summer and last year for every hour they read, they earned screen time. It’s not timed or forced, but we stock up on really great summer reads to help make this happen. It’s during these down, unplanned times that kids have the freedom to be creative and entertain themselves.
5. Monitor screen time- in our technology-filled world, this is absolutely necessary. We are pretty strict about it during the school year, but more lax in the summer. But the last thing I want them doing is filling their hours in front of a screen, so I will be conscious of how much my kids are idle. I also won’t be tweeting or Facebooking much and blogging less. My screen time needs to be limited too.
6. Summer bucket list- Summer flies by and the time needs to be intentional. I like for my kids to pick one thing they really want to do-sometimes it’s berry picking or making homemade ice cream. My 5 year old really *wants* to break her arm, so she can get a cast. We’re going to try and skip that one. Choose one thing each and count is successful if you get it accomplished!
7. Set aside time for yourself- I work from home and while I plan to cut back this summer (closing Mercy Shop for June and July and not taking on new writing projects), there are still things I need to do for Mercy House and words I want to write so I stay sane. I try to work an hour or two before my kids wake up and I usually have a babysitter one day a week. This summer, I’m paying my oldest to help me. She’s Red Cross certified and we’re both excited about it. I also arranged with my hubby to have one night a week out of the house to get work done.

I think just being present is the greatest gift we can give our children. There’s a lot of opportunities for this during the summer and I plan to take advantage.

Y’all remind me of that when I chafed, m’kay?

The room was dark and we lay facing each other, toe to toe, so close I could feel his breath on my cheek. It was late and we were both tired from an exhausting week, but we needed this.

In the hush of pillow talk, he told me about a conversation with our son. I heard the uncertainty in his words, the way his sentences ended with a question mark. I listened to the voice of a father who loves deeply, but feels inadequate when he can’t protect his children from hurt.

I whispered back reassuring words and reminded him he was enough. And then I gave voice to my concern over our daughters, my own self-doubt and mom guilt. I forced down a sob, when I said the words, “this parenting thing is so hard.”

I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

And so we did the only thing we could think of-the only thing that really works, we prayed for our children together and fell asleep with their names on our lips, tangled arms and legs, in this together.

We have great kids-there’s no subliminal message here, but they are human and they push for freedom we aren’t ready to give, they say things that hurt, they are wounded by friends and face discouragement and failure. So, basically, we’re all a big human mess.

And we’re navigating this journey together, sometimes it’s loud and riveted with pain and it’s always messy.

During a particularly challenging day in which my entire clan was angry at me, I felt like God dropped this truth in my heart and now I’ve got a death grip on it:

Hard parenting doesn’t mean bad parenting. If often reflects good parenting.

Let’s face it, we’re sinners raising little sinners. That’s a whole lot of flesh. Just because it’s hard doesn’t mean you’re a bad parent.  And sometimes when it gets hard, it’s because they are fighting against us and ultimately God. And sometimes it’s just plain hard because it’s normal.

Hey you-yes you, that child who refuses to sleep and the one that sucks the very breath out of the room with her drama, that’s normal.

Fight on, weary soldier.

And have some sweet tea.

I was talking to a good friend the other day who has her first foster child (added to her three biological). She was talking of the uncertainty of it all and the mountain of unknowns, the fear and doubt. She said her husband reminded her that this new foster baby was just like their kids–all their children belong to God. They are all His and we are only promised this moment with them.

Simple. Profound.

I tucked that truth right next to the other:

My kids belong to God. He uses their trials to work in them just like He uses mine. 

And sometimes He uses this family thing to grow us all.