The Last Summer Home (Probably): My Mixed Feelings About It

This weekend, my younger daughter comes home from college for the summer.

She'll be a senior next year, which means this is likely the last summer she'll live under our roof. The last summer of having her home for three months straight. The last summer before she graduates and moves into whatever comes next.

I should be purely excited, right? I should be counting down the hours until she walks through that door.

And I am excited. I really am.

But I'm also... something else. Something I feel a little guilty admitting.

The Truth About Mixed Feelings

Here's what I'm not supposed to say out loud: my husband and I have gotten really used to the quiet.

We've gotten used to it being just the two of us. To not having to consider a third person when we make dinner plans or decide to watch a movie at 9 PM or spontaneously go out to eat. We've gotten used to our routine, the one we built after both girls left for college.

And now that routine is about to shift.

Don't get me wrong. I love my daughter. I'm genuinely looking forward to having her home. I miss her presence in the house. I miss hearing her voice and her laughter. I miss being able to just talk to her in person instead of through a screen. I miss seeing her regularly, not just on FaceTime calls squeezed between her classes and our schedules.

But I'm also bracing myself for the things I'm less excited about.

What I'm Less Excited About (And Why That's Okay to Say)

I'm less excited about being available all the time. When it's just Andy and me, we have our space. Our time. When she's home, I'm back to being "Mom" in a way that feels different than when the house is empty.

I'm less excited about my routine changing. I've gotten into a rhythm. I know when I write, when I cook, when I have the house to myself. That's all about to shift.

And honestly? I'm less excited about having to consider a third person for every meal, every plan, every decision. It's not that I don't want to include her. It's just that Andy and I have gotten used to the simplicity of two.

Does that make me a terrible mother? I don't think so. I think it makes me human.

The Bittersweetness of "The Last Time"

Here's the thing that makes all of this even more complicated: this is probably the last summer she'll be home like this.

Next year, she graduates. She'll move on to whatever comes next: a job, maybe grad school, her own apartment, her own life. And summer visits, if they happen at all, will be short. A week here, a weekend there.

This is likely it. The last full summer.

Which means I want to soak it all in. I want to appreciate her presence, her laughter, her energy filling the house again. I want those late-night kitchen conversations and the moments I know I'll miss when she's gone for good.

But I also know that I'm allowed to miss the quiet. I'm allowed to feel a little anxious about the routine shifting. I'm allowed to love her deeply and love the life Andy and I have built in her absence.

Both things can be true.

Finding the Balance

So this weekend, when she walks through the door with her duffel bags and laundry and all the energy of a 21-year-old coming home for summer, I'm going to hug her tight. I'm going to be genuinely happy she's here.

And then I'm going to figure out how to balance it all: the joy of having her home with the reality of adjusting our rhythm again. The excitement of her presence with the knowledge that

I need space too. The bittersweetness of knowing this is probably the last time with the determination to make it count.

Because here's what I've learned in this stage of parenting: it's okay to have mixed feelings.

It's okay to be excited and anxious. It's okay to love your kids fiercely and love the life you have when they're not there.

It doesn't make you a bad parent. It makes you honest.

So to all the parents out there whose college kids are coming home for summer, whether it's the first time or the last, know this: whatever you're feeling is valid. The excitement, the anxiety, the joy, the dread, the bittersweetness of it all.

Welcome to the both/and of parenting adults.