Somewhere in between the end-of-year madness and the back-to-school prep (and believe it or not, they’re not very far apart around here), summer quietly tiptoes in and asks us to slow down. This year, I’m letting summer take the lead.
This year, I’ve decided that we’re living like Grandma.
But please don’t take that the wrong way, I’m not talking about Pinterest-perfect vintage picnics, or dressing the kids in linen overalls for Instagram. I’m talking soul-deep grandma vibes: slow mornings, hand-shelled peas, lemonade in mason jars, and no one knowing what time it is because it doesn’t really matter anyway.
When I think of my grandmother’s kitchen, I remember the way it felt: warm pie cooling on the windowsill, dinner bubbling on the stove, and a table always ready for whoever happened to drop by. Life was lived in moments, not checklists.
This summer, we’re bringing that energy home.
We’ve picked strawberries and were going to turn them into strawberry rhubarb pie. We picked cherries to turn into jam, even if it only yields two jars and a sink full of dishes. We’re letting the kids run barefoot in the sprinkler while supper bubbles slowly on the stove. We’re pulling out old board games, writing real letters, and maybe skipping a few camps in favor of lazy mornings and backyard bug hunts.
We’re not aiming for productivity, we’re aiming for presence.
Don’t get me wrong, the house is loud, a little messy, and full of life. There are days I feel like the ringmaster of a barefoot, muddy circus, but there’s a sacredness when we choose slow. I would never want to miss it because I was too busy planning it.
Being in my Grandma era this summer will mean embracing the imperfect beauty of home, choosing connection over convenience, stories over screens, and rhythms over routines. It’ll mean remembering that the best parts of summer won’t show up in our phones, but in our kids’ hearts.
So, if you need me, I’ll be out back in the Adirondack chair, watching the kids chase lightning bugs with a mason jar of iced tea in hand —if the chickens don’t knock it over first!
