After Yosemite, life settled back into rhythm.
Parents back at work, kids off to camp — that's what summer looks like for a dual-income family. The drop-off and pick-up windows are tight, but I treasure those few minutes in the car. Kids talk in the car. Who argued with who, what they had for lunch, what happened at the pool — the offhand stuff, the real stuff. Sometimes those ten minutes are worth more than the whole evening.
Weekends were ours.
One weekend in early June, we drove south down Pacific Coast Highway.
The second the kids spotted the ocean, the windows went down. Wind off the water, that faint salty smell. No destination — just stop wherever looks good.
At the Laguna Beach tide pools, my son went straight into treasure-hunt mode — "Mom, look!" on repeat — collecting shells, seaweed, rocks, each one more precious than the last. My daughter found a stick and used it to write all four of our names in the sand, then stepped back to admire her work with a very satisfied expression.
My husband had been lying on the beach pretending to nap in the sun. The kids dragged him into the water for a splash fight. He acted like he was doing it for them. I could tell he was having the most fun.
I stood to the side handing out towels, reminding people to reapply sunscreen, passing out snacks and water. Just watching them go.
My heart was full.
Another weekend went to the Farmer's Market.
Local Farmer's Markets are mom's playground. Every market has its own personality, and there's always something new. The kids sometimes complain before we go — and then get just as excited as I am once we're there. I knew they would.
I pick up produce. They scout the stalls, pulling me over to try samples. My son gets a fresh-pressed juice every single time, sipping it while he walks like he owns the place. My daughter gravitates toward the baked goods and the handmade crafts — she'll stand at a booth for a long time, studying each piece, asking the vendor how it's made, nodding like she's an expert.
I've noticed something: every time I bring them to the Farmer's Market, they're willing to try new foods. The picky-eater version of them just… doesn't show up here. Maybe it's seeing where food comes from. Maybe it's the energy of the place. Whatever it is, I'll keep taking them.
After the market, we usually find a nearby spot for brunch — I get coffee, the kids get pancakes, my husband clears every plate. Then sometimes we wander over to the local library to browse.
Weekends like this, no schedule, no rush, just slow.
I really like them.
