We talked about presence and the slow moments that quietly become our favorite memories simply because someone was fully there for them.

None of them were ever meant to be experienced alone.

Wonder becomes richer when you have someone to explore it with. The memories that stay with us longest are almost always shared ones.

The pace of adult life, combined with the habits that come with constant connectivity, has a way of convincing us that slow, attentive noticing feel like something we do not have time for. But the best way I know to rediscover it is to spend time with children who haven't forgotten how.

We invest so much in the big experiences (which is great!). The holidays, the special outings, the carefully organized days that are surely going to become the stories our children tell one day. And sometimes they do. Some of those planned moments become exactly the memories we hoped they would.

But the ones that stay with us the longest are often much simpler than that.

A curious adult becomes a more present parent. A curious parent asks better questions. Better questions open better conversations. Those conversations, over time, build the relationship that help children feel known, understood and connected.

Children absorb the emotional atmosphere of the adults around them long before they can explain it.

They do not only experience summer through their own eyes. They experience it through ours too.

We measure summer by the highlights. The trips, the big days, the photographs. And those things are genuinely worth celebrating.

But the summers I look back on most warmly are not the ones with the most impressive itinerary. They are the ones where I was actually present in the ordinary moments.

If we have started to think of a child as anxious, we may notice every moment of worry and miss the tiny flashes of courage. Not because we are bad parents. Not because we are not paying attention. Because that is what minds do…they look for evidence that confirms the story they already know.

But summer strips away the school-year context and shows you a different version of your child. One that does not always fit neatly into the story you have been carrying since September.

Optimism as a muscle you build over time, not a personality trait you either have or do not. That reframe matters. Because it means it is available to all of us. Including on the days when it does not come easily.

This does not mean we need to be endlessly positive. That would be exhausting, and not especially honest. It means we can help children see that more than one thing can be true at the same time.

You are getting enough sleep. Or close enough. You are going to bed at a reasonable hour, waking up at a reasonable hour, doing the things you are supposed to do. And you are still exhausted. Not tired in the way a good weekend away would fix. Tired in a way that seems to sit underneath everything, that rest does not seem to touch, that you have quietly started to wonder might just be who you are now.

Children spend so much of the school day managing themselves. By the time they come home, their emotional capacity may be low. The feelings they have carried all day can spill out in the place where they feel safest.And sometimes, we will not get it right. We may snap. We may lecture. We may respond from our own tiredness.

June can bring a different kind of classroom energy.

Children may be tired but restless. Some children become louder. Some become more emotional. Some test limits. Some seem to need more reassurance. Others quietly pull back.

And because teachers are often the emotional anchors in the room, we can feel responsible for holding all of it together.

Your child does not need you to perform fatherhood perfectly. They need you to keep choosing connection. They need to see that mistakes can be repaired, that feelings can be spoken about, that kindness and firmness can live together, and that love is something we practise in real life, not something we only declare on special occasions.

As the year comes to a close, we may imagine that finishing well means cheerful cooperation, completed tasks, calm mornings, and everyone gliding neatly into the final day.

But June rarely works that way. Motivation will rise and fall. Feelings will come and go. There will be days when children have energy and days when they simply do not.

By June, the feelings that were easier to carry in September or January may start to feel heavier.

Children may show it through behaviour. Adults may show it through shorter patience, quieter exhaustion, or that familiar feeling of having very little left to give at the end of the day.

So if June feels heavier than you expected, you are not alone

You are getting enough sleep. Or close enough. You are going to bed at a reasonable hour, waking up at a reasonable hour, doing the things you are supposed to do. And you are still exhausted. Not tired in the way a good weekend away would fix. Tired in a way that seems to sit underneath everything, that rest does not seem to touch, that you have quietly started to wonder might just be who you are now.