Before Summer Disappears: A Note for Ambitious Parents

We still have one in high school, and this summer we also have two home from college. They are working, interning, figuring out schedules, exploring career opportunities, learning about workplaces, and discovering more about what they enjoy doing. So now, instead of a house full of little kids running in and out with towels and snacks and sunscreen, we have something closer to four working adults in the house, plus a 16-year-old trying to find a job. (Is anyone hiring?? Let me know!)

Someone is always in the kitchen eating. Someone is always doing laundry. Someone is always working out. Someone is always in the shower. There is a lot of energy in the house and, frankly, a lot of resource usage.

And I love it.

It is busy in a different way, but it is also really fun. One of the sweetest parts of this season is getting to ask, “How was work today?” and then actually hear their answers. I get to listen as they debrief their day, talk through what they are learning, process what they like and do not like, and begin to understand themselves in a new way.

That is a different kind of presence than when they were little.

When they were young, presence often looked like getting them packed, fed, buckled, sunscreened, entertained, and safely through the day. It was very physical. It required energy and motion.

Now, presence often looks like being available when they are ready to talk. It looks like letting the conversation linger in the kitchen. It looks like listening carefully when they describe a workplace dynamic, a new responsibility, or a moment that made them feel proud. It looks like recognizing that they are not little anymore, but they still want to be known.

That has been really powerful for me to notice.

Because the season changes, but the invitation is the same.

Pay attention.

That is harder than it sounds when you are building a business, leading a team, serving clients, managing a household, and trying to keep the wheels from falling off your life. Ambitious people are often very good at looking ahead. We are thinking about the next meeting, the next goal, the next client, the next quarter, the next opportunity, the next thing that needs to be solved.

That ability to look ahead can be a gift in business. It helps us anticipate needs, solve problems, build teams, serve clients, and create something that lasts. But at home, that same forward-looking energy can quietly pull us out of the moment we are actually in. We can be sitting in the kitchen with our kids while mentally solving tomorrow’s problem. We can be present in the room, but not fully present in the conversation.

I don’t say that with judgment. I say it because I know how easy it is to do.

This summer, I am trying to pay attention to the ordinary moments that are already available. The Sunday afternoon dinner when the older boys come over. The quick debrief after someone gets home from work. The conversation that starts casually in the kitchen and turns into something meaningful if I don’t rush it. The last 20 or 30 minutes of the day, when the sky turns pink and purple and orange over the mountains, and we sit on the deck together just to watch it.

None of that is elaborate. It does not require a perfect plan or a vacation itinerary. It simply requires noticing what is already right in front of us and being willing to protect it, even in small ways.

I think ambitious parents sometimes make presence harder than it needs to be. We imagine it has to look like a perfectly planned trip, a magical family tradition, or a calendar full of memory-making activities. And those things can be wonderful. I love the lake weekends, the camping trips, the meals, the adventures, and the moments that become part of family lore. But presence is often much smaller and much more ordinary than that.

It is putting the laptop down when someone starts talking. It is letting the story take a few more minutes than you planned. It is accepting that the kitchen may be full and loud and slightly inconvenient because everyone is home. It is choosing not to resent the very interruptions you may one day miss.

That has been something I have had to let go of. Summer does not look like September through April. It does not have the same rhythm. It does not always have the same structure. The house is different. The schedule is different. The energy is different. And maybe it is not supposed to feel as controlled as the rest of the year.

For ambitious parents, I think this is one of the hardest parts. We can feel frustrated when summer disrupts our normal productivity. We can feel behind at work and stretched thin at home. We can love our people deeply and still feel irritated by the noise, the logistics, the laundry, the groceries, and the constant movement.

But maybe summer is not an interruption to real life. Maybe it is real life.

The people walking into your office, eating all the groceries, leaving laundry in the dryer, asking what is for dinner, needing a ride, wanting to talk, or inviting you to sit outside for a few minutes may not be pulling you away from what matters. They may be reminding you what matters.

I think about this often now because I have enough perspective to know how quickly the seasons change. The little-kid summers felt endless when I was in them. They were loud and sticky and exhausting and full of logistics. But they were not endless. They changed. And now this season will change too. The college kids will go back. The high schooler will eventually launch. The house will get quieter. The laundry will slow down. The kitchen will not be quite so crowded.

And I know there will be a part of me that misses the very things that sometimes feel like too much right now.

So before summer disappears, I want to notice it. I want to notice who my kids are becoming. I want to notice what lights them up when they talk about their day. I want to notice the way our family changes when everyone is under one roof again. I want to notice the sunsets, the laughter, the chaos, the meals, the stories, and the ordinary evidence that we are still being given time together.

Because at the end of my life, I do not think my kids are going to sit around and say, “She worked really hard.”

Maybe they will know that. Maybe they will respect it. Maybe they will understand more of it as they build their own lives. But when I get a Mother’s Day card, a birthday card, or any kind of note from my kids, what they write about is not usually the work. It is the time. The memories. The way they felt being loved by me.

That is the question I want to keep close this summer: What does it feel like to be in the presence of my parenting and my love?

Not in a heavy or guilt-filled way. In a clarifying way. Because our kids will remember more than what we did together. They will remember how they felt with us. They will remember whether we listened. Whether we softened. Whether we looked up. Whether we made room. Whether home felt like a place where they were known.

And I think that is the invitation for all of us who are building big things while loving people deeply.

Before summer disappears, ask yourself what this season of your family is asking from you. Not what last summer needed. Not what some idealized version of summer should look like. Not what social media says you should create. Just this family, in this season, with the time and energy you actually have.

Maybe the answer is a family dinner. Maybe it is a slow morning. Maybe it is a walk, a sunset, a weekend away, or a conversation you do not rush. Maybe it is simply deciding that when someone you love starts talking, you will do your best to stop multitasking and really listen.

The goal is not to perfect the summer.

The goal is to be present enough to notice it.