This Was Supposed to Be Fun! A Story of Real Parenting, Real Growth

Another school year is coming to a close—and whether it was one to remember or one to forget, one thing is for sure:

👉 Our kids have worked hard.

They’ve poured time, energy, focus, and perseverance into showing up—day after day, class after class, assignment after assignment. This is a moment worth honoring.

But even when we try to do just that… sometimes, things don’t go as planned.

Today, I want to share a story from one of the moms I've had the honor of working with. She had a beautiful intention: to celebrate the end of the school year with her daughters.

Instead, the celebration unraveled.

But what she discovered in that unraveling? It’s something so many of us need to hear.

With her permission, here’s a brief excerpt from her reflection:

“It was supposed to be a celebration, a marking of the end of the school year and the beginning of summer… But instead, I turned the car around halfway there and brought them home. As I drove off, I thought for a moment that I really wanted to drive off into the sunset, far, far away. Not forever, maybe for a week or two until I felt like myself again… Much of the time, at least in my family, ADHD is a thief. It steals peace and joy and milestones and normalcy... I realized that I need my own celebration. I need to go get ice cream alone, to celebrate all these accomplishments myself.”

⭐️ Quiet Bravery, Hidden Strength, and the Power of Showing Up!

This story isn’t just about a failed outing—it’s a masterclass in parenting differently-wired kids with grace, grit, and self-awareness. 

Here are the insights that rose to the surface for me, and I suspect they’ll speak to you, too:

1. Grieve the Dream, Celebrate the Reality There’s grief in letting go of the family you imagined. And there’s beauty in learning to love the family you have. Naming that loss makes space for acceptance—and real connection.

2. When Wins Don’t Feel Like Wins to Our Kids Just because your kids don’t join the celebration doesn’t mean the wins don’t count. You get to name the growth, the effort, the milestones—even if the moment feels tense or ungrateful.

3. The Power of the Pause The instinct to shut down is real. But choosing a small repair—like returning with ice cream bars and a smile—is a powerful act of connection. She didn’t force the moment to be okay… she just stayed present.

4. ADHD May Steal Moments, But Not the Whole Story Yes, ADHD can rob families of ease and predictability. But it can’t take away the love, the resilience, or the fierce commitment we bring to our kids, again and again.

5. Celebrate Yourself This mother realized that even if no one else was clapping, she could. And that matters. Sometimes the biggest parenting win is showing up again after the meltdown. Don’t wait for permission to honor that.

A Gentle Invitation

If this story hit home for you— If you’ve ever tried to make a memory and ended up in a meltdown, I hope you’ll take this as permission to be proud anyway.

Celebrate the small things. Grieve what didn’t go as planned. And maybe—no, definitely—treat yourself to something sweet.

Because you’re doing more than enough. And you deserve to be celebrated, too. 🍦

💬 Ready for Your Own Shift?

What moved me most about this story isn’t just how honest it is—it’s how much grace this mom gave herself in the aftermath.

That’s not luck. That’s growth!

She didn’t push through with perfection—she moved through with intention. And that kind of shift? It’s possible for you, too.

Let’s explore what support could look like for you and your family.

📩 Schedule a free Discovery Call here

With so much love and respect,

Coco

Mary's Reflection:

When everything is hard, even taking them for ice cream.

I watched them file up the driveway, hunched posture, sad expressions, my youngest in tears. Then I backed out and headed to the store to get half and half for the next morning’s coffee.

It was supposed to be a celebration, a marking of the end of the school year and the beginning of summer. As a homeschool family, we have to create these occasions for ourselves. It was supposed to be ice cream and maybe just a small bit of reflection on our collective year. But instead, I turned the car around halfway there and brought them home.

 As I drove off, I thought for a moment that I really wanted to drive off into the sunset, far, far away. Not forever, maybe for a week or two until I felt like myself again. And I reflected on where I went wrong with this whole “closing ceremony” thing. Had I made it about me? Was it because I had asked them where they wanted to go? This, of course, ended up in yelling, crying, nasty exchanges between my middle and eldest daughters, and overwhelm for my youngest, who didn’t know what she wanted but certainly knew what she DIDN’T want. 

Was it the cute chalkboard sign I asked them to hold while I took a picture in the front yard? “No mom! NO!” “Don’t post it mom!” “Don’t share this with anyone mom!” “You don’t need a  picture mom!” 

There’s a particular grief I feel around the family I have, where everything is hard, there’s rarely a peaceful moment. The feeling of loss for the family I dreamt of, a family where there is a lot of laughter, ease, where my girls got along, is real and ongoing. That family that posts cute stuff on Facebook, that commemorates events in cute ways with the signs and the smiles, that’s the family I thought I would have. I know some of these families well enough to know that they don’t experience family life in the same ways that we do. It is sunshine and roses, a good part of the time for them. 

Was it that I framed it as celebrating our wins as a homeschool family? Generally speaking, we don’t have many wins. This year, however, we do. My oldest finished her Freshman year at a hybrid high school with a 4.0! She did this while managing a dance schedule that had her at the studio until 8:30 or 9:00 pm every night. My dyslexic middle daughter has made such improvements in reading that she “exceeded expectations” on the state test! (We won’t talk about her other scores, I’m focusing on the wins.) Not only that, she’s starting middle school next year. My youngest daughter got the gift of a second year of kindergarten. They all just finished a weekend of dance showcase performances where they excelled. But maybe I should have left out the reflection part and the wins part, and just said, “Let’s celebrate the end of the school year!” 

On the way to the store, I realized my inclination upon coming home would be to ignore everyone, skip the explanation to dad, and go straight to my room and lock the door. What I did instead was get ice cream bars from the store, paste a smile on my face before coming inside, and extend the love my girls needed.

My middle daughter, my explosive, smart, creative, challenging, beautiful middle daughter, crawled into bed next to me that night.

“I’m still mad we didn’t go out for ice cream.” 

“At least you still got an ice cream bar,” I replied.

“It’s not the same.”

“No, no, it’s not. We’ll try again on a different day.”

“A different day is a different day, it won’t be the same.”

“You’re right, it won’t be the same.”

Much of the time, at least in my family, ADHD is a thief. It steals peace and joy and milestones and normalcy. It robs us of celebrations and even the sweetness of conflict-free everyday meals. Most of life is messy and difficult. I realize that I need my own celebration. I need to go get ice cream alone, to celebrate all these accomplishments myself. Celebrate that I’m still here with a smile on my face after a year of screaming before every single special education Zoom class for my daughter. Every single one. 

Celebrate that all three of my daughters danced so beautifully and wholeheartedly in their showcase, when before every class, there was crying and yelling about brushing hair and too tight/not tight enough ballet buns, and looking for all the shoes at the last minute. 19 dance classes per week between the three of them. Celebrate my oldest daughter’s success in school, even though her procrastination and lack of good sleep habits had me biting my tongue and digging deep for empathy. Celebrate the beautiful space without academic pressure, I created for my youngest, even as she exhibited the signs of explosive, impulsive ADHD that had so baffled me with my middle daughter. 

So I’m going to ice cream tonight. And I’m going to celebrate the love I have for my family. And I’m going to celebrate me!