School’s Out

Charlotte Ronson

Jun 04, 2026

School ends in two days.

I have a vague idea of what summer looks like.

A few plans.

A few trips.

A lot of beach days.

A lot of popsicles.

Beyond that, I’m figuring it out as I go.

I’ve never been the parent who has summer planned six months in advance.

Every year around this time I start hearing about camps that were booked in January and spreadsheets that were made before Valentine’s Day.

I admire those people.

I am not those people.

In fact, I probably pride myself on it a little.

Growing up in New York City, my twin sister and I went away to sleepaway camp in Maine. We spent most of the summer desperately homesick, counting down the days til parent’s weekend. And yet when I think back on those summers, that’s not what I remember first.

I remember the freedom.

The friendships.

The freezing cold showers.

The crafts.

The songs.

The letter writing and reading.

The care packages.

The dances.

matching bikini’s by Old Navy.

This time of year I start gathering the things that make summer feel possible.

An easy gingham set that can survive playgrounds and popsicles. A swimsuit that spends as much time out of the water as it does in it. A hooded terry cover-up for swim days. Goggles. Friendship bracelets. A lunch box packed before breakfast. An insulated tumbler and snack cup set that somehow gets left everywhere but always finds its way home. Reusable popsicle sleeves. Waterproof beach shoes. Sneakers. A cherry backpack ready to be filled with treasures collected throughout the day.

The practical things.

But also the little things.

The friendship bracelets.

The melting popsicles.

The treasures tucked into backpacks.

The School Days Memory Book that helps hold onto the year before it slips away completely.

I’ve never believed practical has to mean boring. Summer is usually a mix of high and low around here—an Old Navy swimsuit, a favorite hand-me-down tee & towel, a special backpack, and whatever still survived last year’s camp season.

Summer wardrobes tend to be smaller than the rest of the year, which is part of what I love about them. A handful of pieces worn over and over again. Less choice, more freedom.

Maybe that’s what I’m trying to recreate every summer.

Not camp exactly.

Just that feeling.

The feeling that the days are long, the schedule is loose, the kids come home dirty and happy, and the best thing they bring back isn’t what’s in their backpack—it’s the tired limbs and the memories.

Because childhood should feel a little bit like summer camp, even if you’re not ready to send your own kids there quite yet.