Both of my sons are home this summer. After all that quiet I wrote about, my house is suddenly full again. There are all sorts of big shoes by the door, the refrigerator somehow empties itself overnight, and the laundry basket is never, ever empty.
I expected to write this post about how wonderful it is to have them back. It is wonderful. What I didn’t expect was how different it would feel.
If your college kid comes home for the summer and something seems off, like you can’t quite find your old rhythm together, I want you to know you’re not imagining it. Something really has changed. Honestly, that turned out to be a good thing.
They come home different, and that’s the part nobody warns you about
My oldest graduated this spring and just started his first real job in boat sales. He’s been a captain running charter tours on our lake for the last couple of summers, so this position fit him like a glove. As a mom, you hope your kids get to start their careers in something they actually love. Watching that happen is a gift I don’t take for granted.
My younger son is heading into his senior year and spending the summer in an internship that combines his studies concentration with his favorite thing in the world, golf. He’s busy, he’s learning, and he’s happy.
The thing is though, they live here, but they don’t need me the way they used to. They’re in and out with work and friends. They handle their own schedules, their own problems, their own lives. They operate just fine without me standing right there.
Then they swarm back to the kitchen when they’re hungry, or appear with an armful of laundry, and for a moment it feels like it used to.
The strange in-between of being their mom right now
I’ll admit something to you. I’m still making lunches. I’m still doing their laundry. I know full well they’re capable of doing both, and probably should be. The truth is, it makes me feel like an involved mom, and I’m not quite ready to give that up.
At the same time, we don’t spend nearly as much time together as I imagined we would when I was counting down to their return. They’re busy building their own lives, which is exactly what my husband and I raised them to do. It just feels strange to watch it happen from the kitchen while I’m packing a lunch for a grown man.
This is the in-between season you don’t really prepare for. Your college kid comes home for the summer, but they come home as an adult in progress. You’re not parenting the way you used to, and you’re not fully in the next chapter yet either. You’re somewhere in the middle, figuring out your new place in their world.
What has actually helped me this summer
I stopped measuring the summer in hours together. Early on, I caught myself feeling a little hurt when they’d head out the door again. Once I let go of the idea that a good summer meant constant family time, I started enjoying the moments we did get. A late dinner at the kitchen counter. Ten minutes of conversation over coffee before work. Those small moments count for more than I expected.
I let the relationship evolve instead of fighting it. My sons don’t need me to manage their lives anymore. They do seem to want my company, my opinion when asked, and a soft place to land. Being wanted instead of needed felt like a loss at first. Now I see it’s actually the reward.
I kept something of my own going. This blog, my morning routine, my own plans. When your kids come home, it’s tempting to drop everything and orbit around them again. Keeping my own momentum made me steadier, and honestly, I think it made me more enjoyable to be around. If you’re struggling to hold onto your own days while everyone else’s needs move back in, Your Plan for Today is the little tool I built for exactly that kind of season.
The landing pad
Someone once told me that when your kids grow up, your job changes from being their whole world to being their landing pad. This summer I finally understand what that means.
They take off every day into lives that belong entirely to them. Jobs, friends, plans I only hear about in passing. Every night, or most nights anyway, they land back here. They know where home is. They know we’re in it.
That’s the part that fills me up now. Not being needed for everything, but being the place they return to. If that’s not a definition of motherhood I can live with, I don’t know what is.
If you’re in this same in-between summer, missing who they were while getting to know who they’re becoming, I see you. It’s a strange season and a sweet one, often in the same afternoon.
A book that helped me here: Doing Life with Your Adult Children: Keep Your Mouth Shut and the Welcome Mat Out by Jim Burns is the one I recommend to every mom in this stage. The title alone made me laugh, then the chapters made me feel understood.
Nobody tells you about this part
The leaving, the returning, the shifting of who you are to each other. Every one of these is a season ending and another one beginning. I wrote a free guide about exactly that, for the moments when a chapter closes and you’re not sure what comes next.
Get When A Season Ends here. It’s the first thing I’d hand you if we were sitting at my kitchen table.
