With Snacks and Sanctuary

How to Take Care of Rain

What do I need to take care of myself this summer?

First of all: water.

Like actual hydration but also lakes, ocean breezes, cold showers when everything feels sticky and overstimulating and like they might explode from the sheer volume of life. They need water in all its forms. Tall glasses, quiet tubs, unexpected tears, a cold washcloth on the back of their neck. Start there.

Then: food.

Not just “eat something” but feed them. With intention. With protein and color and salt and joy. Something that grounds them. Something that reminds them they exist and deserve pleasure, even if that pleasure is a really well-toasted piece of sourdough with something gooey on top. They’re not trying to be a Pinterest parent or an intuitive eating goddess this summer. They’re just trying to not get so depleted they forget how to make a sandwich.

They need quiet mornings.

Like, sacred, non-negotiable, everyone-is-still-asleep quiet. The kind where they can drink tea, stretch, scribble a few words, stare out the window, do a little dance, and be a person before becoming “Parent” or “Maker of Snacks” or “Resolver of Conflicts Involving Crayons.”

And they need alone time that is actually alone.

Not performatively “taking a break” while still fielding texts or letting guilt chatter in their ear. They need real breaks. Scheduled. Protected. Celebrated.

And yes, they know they’ll feel guilty.

And they can let that guilt exist while they close the door and exhale anyway.

Self-care this summer means:

• Charging their headphones
• Keeping a library book on deck at all times
• Letting Stromps curl up in their lap while they scroll TikTok on purpose
• Leaving the dishes for later if the kids are playing quietly and they just want to sit
• Taking one photo a day that isn’t for anyone but them
• Moving their body not to burn energy but to let it move through them

Every day is going to be an opportunity for play, which is beautiful but also intense because play requires presence. And presence requires rest. And rest requires permission.

So they’re giving themself that permission now. In writing. Out loud.

Take care of Rain.
Not just because they’ll be a better parent or a better worker or a better human to be around — but because they’re Rain. And Rain deserves care. Deserves softness. Deserves to feel held, even by themself.

So here’s the plan:
Feed them.
Water them.
Let them rest.
Give them space.
Let them laugh.
Let them rage.
Let them be.

Take care of Rain.

Because they’re gonna do big things this summer.

And they don’t have to earn that care — they just have to receive it.