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| On the dock at sunset at our old house. |
This summer, I'm majoring in life.
I'm waking up with my littlest boy so we can take a walk together outside, before the heat of the day makes a leisurely stroll a misery.
I'm eating pie and not counting the cost. And of course, there's ice cream. Of course.
I'm watching my biggest boy learn to play tennis ("Zeus!" the high school kids call him, because of his lightning speed.) I'm giggling as my littlest girl delightedly tries out gymnastics. (She wears her leotard at least a portion of everyday, even though lessons are only two mornings a week.) I'm listening to a steady stream of fervent birthday party ideas from my biggest girl, who will turn 11 in a few weeks. (Her party will need to last a 10 days to get through all the activities she has planned.)
My family and I, we aren't going on vacation this summer, a decision born out of a desire to save sanity and money. So a large portion of every week is given to inviting friends to our house, or more importantly, our pool. We swim for hours and hours and laugh at the kids' antics and talk about seeing God in the details of our days. If the crowd stays long enough, and the kids are big enough, we eat through a week's worth of chips and salsa in an hour and then order a pizza. We slurp ice cream sandwiches and if it's dinner time, we feast on burgers and brats or maybe ribs and melon. And the clean up takes 10 minutes, even if we have a gaggle of people, because we eat outside and the dog gets the crumbs and the kids go straight from plate to playground while the grown-ups sit around and enjoy the sunset and warm breeze.
It's intoxicating. I am drunk on summer.
I can't stop thinking about this stanza from Summer in a Small Town by poet Tony Hoagland. (Thanks to Micha Boyett and this post for introducing me.)
My only regret is my dismal lack of photos chronicling the fun. Normally, my camera is always in my hands. But this summer, I'm so busy savoring life, I keep forgetting to document it.
Maybe that's the point.
I'm waking up with my littlest boy so we can take a walk together outside, before the heat of the day makes a leisurely stroll a misery.
I'm eating pie and not counting the cost. And of course, there's ice cream. Of course.
I'm watching my biggest boy learn to play tennis ("Zeus!" the high school kids call him, because of his lightning speed.) I'm giggling as my littlest girl delightedly tries out gymnastics. (She wears her leotard at least a portion of everyday, even though lessons are only two mornings a week.) I'm listening to a steady stream of fervent birthday party ideas from my biggest girl, who will turn 11 in a few weeks. (Her party will need to last a 10 days to get through all the activities she has planned.)
My family and I, we aren't going on vacation this summer, a decision born out of a desire to save sanity and money. So a large portion of every week is given to inviting friends to our house, or more importantly, our pool. We swim for hours and hours and laugh at the kids' antics and talk about seeing God in the details of our days. If the crowd stays long enough, and the kids are big enough, we eat through a week's worth of chips and salsa in an hour and then order a pizza. We slurp ice cream sandwiches and if it's dinner time, we feast on burgers and brats or maybe ribs and melon. And the clean up takes 10 minutes, even if we have a gaggle of people, because we eat outside and the dog gets the crumbs and the kids go straight from plate to playground while the grown-ups sit around and enjoy the sunset and warm breeze.
It's intoxicating. I am drunk on summer.
I can't stop thinking about this stanza from Summer in a Small Town by poet Tony Hoagland. (Thanks to Micha Boyett and this post for introducing me.)
Summer, when the living is easyIf pleasure is fat, I am as plump as a seal pup.
and we store up pleasure in our bodies
like fat, like Eskimos,
for the coming season of privation.
My only regret is my dismal lack of photos chronicling the fun. Normally, my camera is always in my hands. But this summer, I'm so busy savoring life, I keep forgetting to document it.
Maybe that's the point.
