That’s a Wrap, Class of 2025! (And Wow, What a Ride It’s Been)

Well… here we are. The confetti has settled. The cap and gown’s are tucked away. The bounce house has deflated (in the 100-degree heat, no less), and I’m still trying to figure out how we’re already done with the Class of 2025.

This year hit differently—because this year, I wasn’t just behind the camera. I was a mom of not one, but two seniors. One graduating college, the other high school. Let me tell you, it was a lot. A lot of emotions. A lot of milestones. A lot of tears—happy ones, proud ones, and the “how-did-we-get-here-so-fast” kind that sneak up on you in the quiet moments. When I say I empathize, I truly mean it!

Every year, I talk about how senior season is a once-in-a-lifetime moment—and this year, I lived it in stereo. One foot in the world of college send-offs, and the other knee-deep in pro, dress shopping and graduation announcements. It was beautiful. It was chaotic. And it reminded me exactly why I do what I do.

Because this season? It flies. One minute you’re ordering that cap and gown, choosing outfits for senior pictures, and the next minute you’re staring at an empty bedroom wondering if they packed enough socks and if you taught them how to survive out there. 

And here’s the thing no one really warns you about: you think you’re prepared. You think you’ve got time. After all, you’ve done this whole “letting go” thing in stages, right? Kindergarten. Middle school. High school. Every one of those milestones came with a blog post from me—back when I still believed I’d remember it all without writing it down. And now? Now the notebooks are closed. The backpacks are empty. And the silence in the hallway is starting to feel loud.

This year also marked the end of an incredible chapter—my college senior wrapped up her time at my alma mater. Walking that campus again as a mom, not a student, was surreal. Watching her create her own path in a place that helped shape me? Where some of my bestest friends and memories reside. There are no words. Only pride. And maybe a few tears I tried to hide behind my sunglasses as she crossed the stage in the orange and blue.

And then there’s my high school senior—my athlete. The early mornings, the late nights, the years spent pacing the pool deck or packing snacks in the car between meets. The weekend drives, the endless water bottles, the countless ways you rearrange life to support your kid chasing big dreams. It’s not always glamorous, but goodness, is it worth it. Add to it the educational struggles, the ADHD and the battle of wills. The years were not always easy, that’s for sure. But as she grew up, the struggles became less, and the beautiful moments with this mini adult were the norm. Now, I will pack her up and send her 6 hours away. I will miss her practices, so many of her meets, and even the endless army of towels laying around, and I feel that sadness in my soul.

So, in August, when that yellow school bus starts making the rounds, the pencils are sharpened and the little backpacks monogrammed, I may be a bit melancholy. All those times when I couldn’t wait for school to start—for the kids to have that daily structure, for the quiet, for the reset… for the first time in 18 years, I won’t have that feeling. No more lunchboxes lined up on the counter. No more arguing over what outfits are allowed for school, or what homework needs to be done. It’s just… quiet.

And I hate that saying—the one about how the days are long, but the years are short. I hated it when people said that to me mid-chaos, mid grocery run, mid-“Mommm, I need a snack for practice!” But wow… those words? They’re so damn true. The calendar flips and suddenly you’re not counting down the school days—you’re counting down the last summer days before they’re gone. And so if you see me looking longingly at that yellow bus or staring at some sharpened pencils at the store, keep on walking, don’t mind the fresh tears rolling down these cheeks.  

Because tucked behind those tears is the quiet regret of a mama who didn’t know how much she’d miss the noise, the chaos, the constant “what’s for dinner.” I didn’t realize those everyday moments were the good stuff—until they were gone. I spent so much time managing the schedule, I forgot to slow down and feel the season I was in. And while I wouldn’t go back to all that chaos, I do wish I had allowed myself to just BE in that Crazy just a bit more often.

But here’s the thing I’m learning in this season: we don’t have to romanticize every second to honor how much it meant. The sibling fights, the eye rolls, the dinner table standoffs—those were part of our story, too. Give yourself grace for not cherishing it all in real time. You were doing your best. You were in it—loving them, guiding them, carrying the weight of it all with tired arms and a full heart. And that? That was enough.

So if you’re still in the thick of it—packing lunches, racing to practice, stepping over the shoes in the hallway—take a breath. You won’t love every minute (you’re not supposed to), but you will look back and miss the whole messy masterpiece of it. And if you’re standing where I am now, with kids on the edge of their next big thing, know this: it’s okay to grieve the end of a season and celebrate the beginning of a new one. That’s what this year has taught me. That letting go doesn’t mean forgetting—it just means you loved them so much, it’s hard to imagine life any other way.

To the parents: I see you. I am you. And I know how much your heart is wrapped up in these moments. I am watching my last baby head off with yours and this time, my heart feels just a wee bit heavier. Thank you for trusting me to freeze them in time as that moment of being a senior and allowing me to be a part of the best year!

And finally, to the Class of 2025: You were bold. You were busy. You were chock full of athletes. The largest class ever in the United States. You had the craziest weather and the wildest schedules. But you showed up—on the field, in the classroom, in front of my camera—and you made it count. I’m so proud of each and every one of you for the work you have done, for the obstacles you have overcome. But, most of all, for being true to you. The world is your oyster, and I am so excited to cheer you on from the sideline in all that you attempt! 

As we turn the page to another new chapter and start dreaming up big things for the Class of 2026 (yes, already!), I just want to say: thank you. For letting me be a part of your senior story, for letting me capture the heart of your family, and for reminding me—every single day—that this work is about so much more than just pictures.

Want to read the old posts? Back to school (1st and 5th), Back to School (6th and 8th), Back to School (9th and 5th), Back to School (12th and 8th).