Juvi (7), left, and Gia (10), right, at one of our favorite island restaurants, Daddy’s, where they love the great seafood and karaoke. photos courtesy/Hugo Robles
Gia (10), left, and Juvi (7), center, stands with their grandmother, Edith Robles, as they enjoy the popular sunset Dolphin Watch boat tour on the Laguna Madre…on a school night. photos courtesy/Hugo Robles
By: DIANTÉ MARIGNY
April always feels like a season of almost. Almost summer. Almost done with school. Almost back into a routine… but not quite.
On the island, spring doesn’t arrive quietly. It rushes in with warm air, sandy feet, and the return of crowds who have been counting down to this place all year long. For them, it’s a break. A getaway. A few days of sunshine and freedom.
For those of us raising kids here, it’s just life—just a little louder.
Spring Break came and went in a blur, as it always does. There’s something oddly fun about the energy of it all. The music in the distance, the late-night laughter, the reminder that this little stretch of sand we call home is where people come to celebrate being young and carefree.
I’ll admit, I smiled watching the college kids soaking it all in. There’s a kind of nostalgia there… a quiet remembering of a time before snack schedules and school drop-offs and making sure everyone remembered their water bottle.
But motherhood has a way of keeping you grounded in the present.
Like when you’re walking with your daughters and suddenly find yourself explaining—on the fly—why some girls are wearing what can only be described as very enthusiastic interpretations of bikinis. The kind of conversation you didn’t exactly plan for… but there you are, trying to keep a straight face while also keeping it age-appropriate.
It gave me a little chuckle later, one of those “well, that’s a new chapter” moments. Because raising girls means answering questions you never saw coming, in places that don’t pause to give you a heads-up.
And that’s the thing about this time of year. Everything feels like it’s shifting.
My girls are almost another grade older. Already talking about the last day of school, summer plans, and who they want to sit next to next year. And Coast—my sweet baby boy—is already stretching out of that tiny newborn stage. The kind where they fit perfectly against your chest and time feels like it might slow down just a little.
But it doesn’t. It never really does.
Instead, April reminds me that motherhood lives in this constant in-between. We spend so much time looking ahead—waiting for things to get easier, slower, more settled—that we forget this “almost” season is actually where we are.
It’s in the after-school stops by the water that turn into longer stays than planned.
In sandy backpacks and tangled hair from the wind that never quite lets up.
In the mix of diaper bags and homework folders and everything in between.
It’s messy and full and sometimes overwhelming. But it’s also ours.
Living on the island means our everyday backdrop looks like someone else’s vacation. But even here, life isn’t just sunsets and beach days—it’s raising kids in the middle of it all. Teaching them, guiding them, laughing through the unexpected moments… like impromptu bikini conversations on a spring afternoon.
April may feel like a season of almost. But I’m starting to think… maybe this is the season we’re going to miss the most. Because one day, these “almost” days will quietly become the ones that mattered all along.