🌈 Somewhere Over the Fence

This past weekend was the kind of weekend that makes it all feel worth it.

I had started writing something entirely different—a blog about how hard this journey is. About how I’d be lying if I said there weren’t days I wanted to give up. About how exhausting it is to constantly remind, redirect, and repair.

But then this weekend came.

And just like that, the script flipped.

I don’t mean everything was perfect. The toddler still had his moments. Of course he did. He’s two. But oh...my...goodness, was he adorable. Watching him jump into the pool with just a little too much courage, trusting we'd be there to catch him, was something I’ll never forget. His shrieks of happiness, those belly-deep, soul-lifting squeals, were everything.

Later, as we ate dinner, I watched his little eyes droop. He was so tired, he nearly fell asleep during his final diaper change. Normally, he’s a diaper-wrestling alligator. But that night, he melted into my arms.

And then there were the girls.

Alexa and Daisy had been asking to camp in the backyard ever since we moved. The only condition? Wait until the fence was up. Well, the fence was finished last week, and Saturday was shaping up to be perfect.

If I said I wasn’t hesitant, I’d be lying. Daisy is scared of everything. Alexa is always testing limits. This had just as much potential to become an adorable memory as it did a total meltdown.

But we decided to go for it.

Holly’s adult daughter had spent the day with us in the pool, and her boyfriend came by later. Holly got the fire pit going while I started setting up the tent—something I hadn’t done since I was a kid. Back then, I thought I was helping. Now, as a mom (still wild to say out loud), I realize my parents may have been humoring me.

The menu? Hot dogs, mountain pies, and s’mores, obviously.

Little man’s first fire went shockingly well. We showed him how close he could get, and he mostly respected the boundary we’d set. He tossed twigs into the flames like a champ and then, after dinner, curled into my shoulder without a single protest. As I laid him down, his sleepy little voice whispered, “Somewhere Over the Rainbow?”

You better believe I sang it.

When Holly came in to check on him and relieve me of baby duty for the evening, the night air had turned cool—surprisingly crisp for August. I told the girls to grab extra blankets, layers, and pillows. Holly, ever prepared (and ever (un)amused at my last-minute chaos), warned us we’d be cold. She asked about water and bathroom trips, as if we were venturing into the wilderness instead of the backyard.

We finally snuggled into the tent. I braced myself for Daisy’s panic or Alexa’s persistent s’more negotiations. But neither came.

Instead, we talked. Laughed. Just were.

And then the best thing happened.

“Aunt Jenn,” Alexa said, “I love you. Thanks for doing this. I really like it. Can we do it again?” “Yeah,” Daisy added, “I loved this and I love you. It was fun to just talk. I didn’t even miss TV like I thought I would.”

There it was.

The white picket fence moment. The sitcom happy ending. The magical exhale that reminds you this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.

Will it last? Who knows? Monday will come. Tantrums will return. Wet towels will be left on the floor. Someone will insist they already brushed their teeth when they very much have not.

But when that happens, I’ll think back to this weekend. I’ll remember the feel of a tired toddler’s head against my shoulder, the giggles under canvas, and those whispered words of love.

These are my kids.

I’d be as lost without them as they would be without me.

People say young moms grow up with their kids. Well, I’m 45—and I’m growing up with mine, too.

And I love what we’re growing into.