I came home after a long day and noticed a pile of shoes scattered across the porch—flip-flops, sneakers, worn-out sandals. They weren’t just shoes; they were signs of life. Signs that summer had arrived.
Inside were teens—my kids and their friends—laughing, snacking, blasting music, filling the house with chaos and joy. They’ve been coming here for years, growing up together through shared summers, and now, most of them have just graduated. This summer is likely their last together before life pulls them apart.
They say you only get eighteen summers with your kids. This is mine.
I know these shoes won’t be here much longer. Soon, they’ll be heading to dorm rooms and new cities. But for now, I’ll savor it—the mess, the noise, the late-night talks.
Because one day, the porch will be quiet. But today, it’s full of life. And that means everything.
