Slowing Down to Speed Up

A summer of staying put, slowing down, and soaking up the ordinary.

Every June, I convince myself everyone else is having a better summer than we are.

Someone is boarding a plane to Italy. Someone is spending six weeks at the lake. Someone has a beach house booked, matching family swimsuits packed, and a color-coded summer bucket list already half checked off.

Some days, that feels like enough.

Other days, if I’m honest, it doesn’t.

Summer has a funny way of making me feel like I should be doing more.

More travel.
More adventures.
More memories.
More plans.

My social media feeds are filled with beach vacations, flights to Europe, lake houses, matching family swimsuits, and beautifully curated summer bucket lists. Friends are texting about upcoming trips and weekends away, and if I’m being honest, I feel that familiar little green monster of jealousy start to creep in.

Last summer was our “big” summer.

We packed up our lives in Chicago, said goodbye to the city and friends we loved, and moved back to Columbus with a toddler and a baby on the way. We bought a 105-year-old house that has quickly become equal parts dream and renovation project. Everything about last summer felt monumental.

This year couldn’t look more different.

We don’t have a beach vacation planned.

We’re not taking our annual wedding anniversary trip.

There aren’t any flights booked or suitcases packed.

Instead, we’re staying put.

We’re spending mornings in pajamas reading books. Riding scooters around the neighborhood. Going to the pool. Visiting the zoo. Finding a new favorite park. Saying yes to chocolate ice cream after dinner and taking our time getting out the door.

And maybe that’s exactly what we need.

Come August, life will naturally speed up again. Charlotte starts preschool. Yes, it’s only two half days a week, but it still feels like the beginning of a new chapter. Gymnastics, music class, school drop-off, calendars, schedules, and all the rushing that comes with family life are waiting just around the corner.

These slow mornings are numbered.

Charlotte is perfectly content spending hours in pajamas with a stack of books before asking to ride her scooter or swing at the park. Henry, at seven months old, is simply thrilled to watch his big sister do just about anything. He’s the happiest little sidekick and hasn’t met a swing he didn’t love.

So instead of wishing they wanted something bigger, I’m trying to appreciate exactly who they are right now.

Yesterday, I took both kids to the zoo by myself for the first time.

I’d built the day up in my head before we even left the driveway. Charlotte would skip her nap. Henry would only catnap in the stroller. Someone would inevitably melt down, and I’d find myself loading everyone back into the car before lunch wondering why I thought I could do this alone.

None of that happened.

Charlotte skipped her nap for the very first time and had an incredible day. Henry took two short stroller naps, smiled at every animal we passed, and happily watched his sister explore.

It wasn’t a perfect day because everything went according to plan.

It was a perfect day because I realized I’m more capable than I give myself credit for.

It also reminded me that my kids don’t need extraordinary adventures.

They mostly just need me.

If I’m honest, slowing down doesn’t come naturally to me.

I don’t love lingering around the house. I’m a better mom when we get out, explore, and have somewhere to be. When I’m home too long, I notice the dust collecting under the couch, the dishwasher that needs unloading, and the laundry that somehow never ends.

Home has a way of reminding me of everything left undone.

Being with my kids reminds me of everything that’s already enough.

So this summer, I’m choosing a different pace.

Not because staying home is always better than traveling.

Not because I think slower summers are somehow more meaningful.

But because this is what our family needs in this season.

I’ve started thinking of this summer as slowing down to speed up.

We’re creating margin now because life won’t offer it forever.

Soon enough we’ll be rushing out the door for preschool drop-off, packing lunches, juggling activities, and wondering where the slow mornings went.

When that happens, I don’t want to wish I’d squeezed one more vacation into our calendar.

I want to remember that I squeezed every bit of joy I could out of an ordinary Tuesday.

Because maybe that’s what childhood remembers.

Not the passport stamps.

But the slow mornings in pajamas.

One more trip down the slide.

Scooter rides after dinner.

A day at the zoo with Mom.

The summers that don’t look remarkable from the outside are often the ones that quietly become unforgettable.

Maybe childhood isn’t held together by the biggest adventures.

Maybe it’s held together by ordinary days that felt unhurried, safe, and full of love.