I’m back from Europe, [FIRST NAME GOES HERE]. Wally, my dog, did not forget me but he did get a heinous haircut so I have disowned him. Did you know I’m personally bringing Dog Mullets into high fashion?

I’m trying to adjust to normal, un-fancy, American life. I have nowhere to be. My glamorous European wardrobe lays in a heap on my bedroom floor.

The preparations for college life are beginning here. The ending of a chapter has me reviewing 18+ years of family memories.

The snapshots I value most are not necessarily the vacations, celebrations, and performances. Those high notes are exceptions to the everyday culture we lived.

It’s the ordinary, un-fancy moments that comprise the bulk of who our family has been. The unscheduled, unhurried down times were actually enjoyable while in progress. (Like when my Spicy One dragged the kid’s table to the foot of my bed because I was enjoying a slow summer morning.)

Meanwhile, most highlight reel memories are only really appreciated looking backwards, once we’ve forgotten the pain of living through them. (Cue every long road trip with children, ever.)

It’s easy to get to the second half of the summer (and this late-stage period of my teenagers’ lives) and feel the pressure to fit in all the things we haven’t done yet, to complete that summer bucket list.

The school supplies, already stocked on Target’s shelves, taunt us into worrying we haven’t done enough, that we’ve somehow failed in the effort to create "The Best Summer Ever".

I wonder if a better mom might work harder to fill her 18-year-old’s last summer home with more extravagant memories.

(Although we do get to see Taylor Swift do her thing in a few weeks, so there’s that…)

I want you to question the romanticized expectation that summer is supposed to be filled with never-ending highlights like lemonade stands and water slides.

Call on the Holy Spirit to give you patience with the doldrums and the whining so that you can see the beauty in it like this saint:

That puts a lot of pressure on you, the mother, to make something extraordinary happen.

The real beauty is in the ordinary days: the time we take to linger, the languishing of summer (captured well here at the Musee D’orsay.)

Allow for that.

So many of the French paintings I loved in Paris were of women in recline, recuperating. Your homework is to channel their vibe, to find solace and rest in the ordinary moments.

I leave you with some inspiration from Ralph Waldo Emerson. He wrote:

"Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year. He is rich who owns the day, and no one owns the day who allows it to be invaded with fret and anxiety.
Finish every day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities, no doubt crept in.
Forget them as soon as you can, tomorrow is a new day; begin it well and serenely, with too high a spirit to be cumbered with your old nonsense. This new day is too dear, with its hopes and invitations, to waste a moment on the yesterdays.