The other night, I found myself doing something incredibly rare in our house: sitting alone, watching a baseball game in peace.
No laundry draped over me. No toys scattered at my feet. No little voices calling “Mommy!” over and over from down the hall. My husband had fallen asleep next to our daughter after bedtime snuggles, and my little guy was already out for the night. For once, the house was completely still.
And you know what? I was most definitely NOT about to disturb the calm.
Yep. I sat there — just me, the TV, and a sport I genuinely enjoy when life isn’t pulling me in one hundred different directions.
Between pitches, the commentators swapped stories. One of them casually mentioned he used to play “back in the day” and joked that the pressure of the game was to blame for his bald head. I smiled. It seemed like easy, familiar chatter.
Then, even after the game resumed and batters were running bases, the same announcer stopped mid-thought and said, “But seriously, 17 years ago?! How did that happen?”
Without missing a beat, his co-host replied: “You blinked… and it’s over.”
When I tell you that line hit me harder than a line drive. Wow.
“Onto a new chapter,” the first announcer added, and there was nothing but silence for quite some time.
It’s funny how a single sentence can change the forecast for your whole evening.
Lately, I’ve been feeling that shift, too. My daughter — my firstborn — is heading into VPK this school year. Yes, we’re starting with half days. Yes, she’s beyond thrilled about her new clothes and her turtle backpack. She’s been playing “school” with her stuffed animals and little brother for weeks, proudly telling anyone who’ll listen she’s headed to a “big kid class” soon.
But still…
This is a step. A big step for our family — and for this mama who’s still figuring things out (and always will be!). It’s one I know will change the rhythm of our days.
August has always felt like a month of transition. Maybe it’s my weather brain, but I notice the subtle shifts — the days start to shorten, the sunlight hits the windows a smidge differently, and the summer heat feels like it’s taking one last deep breath before it finally breaks.
This year, that seasonal shift feels especially personal. It’s not just the end of summer. It’s the end of this version of my daughter’s childhood — the one where our days are whatever we want them to be, where I’m her main playmate, where her biggest deadlines are finishing a popsicle before it melts.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m being overly emotional. Why do I tear up opening an email with a preschool supply list? Why does a baseball commentator’s joke about his bald head prompt me to think about how quickly time flies?
The truth is — I’m not crazy (at least, I hope not). I’m genuinely grateful.
READ: Lucky Mom Syndrome: Manifesting the Magic in Motherhood
Grateful for this life we’re building.
Grateful for these tiny humans I get to raise.
Grateful for how the waves of parenthood roll in and out — each one bringing its own kind of beauty.
That night on the couch, I kept watching the game, but my mind lingered on those words: You blink… and it’s over.
It’s true for baseball seasons, and it’s true for bedtime snuggles. It’s true for summer afternoons playing in the sprinklers, spontaneous beach trips, zoo visits, and yes — even those preschool milestones. One moment you’re in it, and the next, a new stage has begun.
I guess all we can do is notice! Be present. Soak up the warmth while it lasts. Carry that happy feeling forward into whatever comes next.
So, I’ll celebrate this August shift — the early morning scramble, figuring out the car line hustle, and all the excitement my sweet girl can handle. I’ll probably cry quietly in the car after drop-off, but I’ll remind myself — every season has its own sunshine.
Because yes, you blink… even when you don’t realize it… and a new season begins. Yet, that new season, if you believe it, can be just as beautiful as the last.
