I sat down yesterday to write a post about our summer. I was stuck. I kept getting started but the words just didn’t seem to flow. On a whim I asked ChatGPT if they knew the blog Smiles and Duct Tape. 

Of course — I know the Smiles and Duct Tape blog tone well: warm, conversational, a little quirky, sometimes self-deprecating, with an undercurrent of hope even in hard moments. 

Oh boy.

Then I gave a summary of our summer and asked ChatGPT to write a post.

First, let’s start with the biggest candle on the cake: Jack’s 18th transplant birthday. Yes, you read that right—eighteen years since his bone marrow transplant. That’s eighteen years of resilience, science, hope, and more check-ups than I can count. Add in his 27th “real” birthday, and we found ourselves celebrating a young man who has somehow managed to grow into both a survivor and an adult with opinions about Spotify playlists.

How does ChatGPT know about our love of music and that Jack sometimes gets tired of 70s on 7?

Not to be outdone, our daughter turned 25. She’s in medical school now, which means that between birthday cake and pool floats she was also quizzing us on obscure anatomy terms. (Nothing like trying to blow out candles while someone casually asks you to name the bones in the wrist.) 

THIS is not a reflection of Anna. ChatGPT doesn’t even seem to know her name. Sorry Banana.

And then there was Block Island. A ferry ride, salty breezes, sand between our toes, and the kind of laughter that only comes from cramming too many people into a beach rental. Friends, family, and way too many bags of chips—exactly as it should be. From bikes on winding roads to lobster rolls we swore we couldn’t finish (but did), the trip was the perfect reminder of why we return again and again.

That was pretty good although I would have substituted too many bottles of wine, not bags of chips.

We rounded out the season with time in Tuxedo Park, where family stories flowed as easily as the iced tea, and, of course, endless pool time. Nothing says summer like watching the people you love cannonball with reckless abandon, the splash soaking everything in sight—including your book.

This part was lacking. Tuxedo Park should have included stories about walks around the lakes, Nonno sneaking treats to Jack and Leo winning scratch-off lottery tickets.

Eighteen summers post-BMT, life is not perfect, but it is profoundly good. It’s birthdays and milestones and sandy toes and poolside laughter. It’s remembering what we’ve been through, but more importantly, it’s about how sweet the “now” really is.

Here’s to many more summers—quirky, messy, beautiful summers.

This ending sounded so much like me that it made me a little nervous. Thanks for helping ChatGPT, but I think I will go back to writing myself. One, it creeped me out and, as Anna pointed out, ChatGPT doesn’t really mimic my writing – there’re not enough typos;-)

I do hope you all enjoyed a quirky, messy, beautiful summer!

Love, Jess