Nothing – literally nothing! – was completed from the “weekend tasks” list.  But huckleberry picking (and resulting smoothies and pancakes and pie) and trail running and swimming and a five-hour water balloon battle in the backyard (while Mark and I read from the cool of our room) wasn’t on that list, either.  (It wasn’t really a good list.)



Getting away for four days felt like a miracle. Gratitude}

First Class upgrade. Endless heat and sun. The stark beauty of the desert. Room upgrade. The pool to ourselves. The Jewish deli. The cold coffee. Hiking up high.  Purple rocks rising at dusk. Conversation uninterrupted. Incredible cocktails and food. Literary bartenders. Air conditioning. Air conditioning. Air conditioning. Sunblock. Mid-Century architecture and furniture to drool over everywhere. Grandmas. Time.



It’s just a mom and boys week around here. Their energy is so completely different and sometimes baffling. Trying to have conversations about anything other than baseball or jumping off of things while doing tricks, or who can pass gas the loudest doesn’t always get very far. I never thought all the cliches were true.  I thought surely MY boys would be different- artistic, readers, conversationalists. I will keep pressing in and love them for who they are.




First camping trip of the season. Sunshine instead of rain. New out of state campfire friends with a gaggle of boys. Old camping friends with shoulders to lean on. Footie pajamas and sneakers. Fort-making in the woods. Hikes to majestic waterfalls. The song of a creek. The symphony of the river. Running in national parks. Refreshing dips in glacial waters. Fireside cocktails. Planting seeds in a new garden room. Purging. Tan babies. Barefoot everywhere babies. Toddlers that will always be babies. Blackberry ice cream. Ginger ice cream. Baseball documentaries on the couch with my boys. Perfect thrifted shorts. Making something new. Being filthy. This heat. Summer starting on the right foot. Counting down to a poolside vacation alone with him.



The final week of school is flying by with activities and events that jar my days into pieces. I keep trying to be two places at once.  In my head I’m at least three steps forward, but in reality I’m two steps back. And today I found out that on top of a week filled to the brim with two park field trips, one ice cream field trip, one awards ceremony (which I am missing) two baseball games, two photo shoots, making teacher gifts, I get to bring treats in to class since he has a summer birthday. Goody.



Sometimes trying harder to make it all work doesn’t cut it. Sometimes the only answer is to say screw it and take a nap.



It was just one of those days. Three trips to the grocery store.  Four poopy cloth diapers. One hour of shuttling kids. More than a couple outbursts (me and them) which all culminated in me crying about the broken fridge shelf and the groceries on the floor and the stupid small dishwasher and the exhausting solo parenting. Thank God for good friends and wine under the stars, commiserating about how this job is so unbelievably hard and unlrelenting.  And yet…we wouldn’t miss it for the world.



It hit me so suddenly, sitting in her living room as the songs washed over me. How poetry has left me. How much I need it back in my life but I have to make space. And then I realized perhaps it’s just pictures instead of words now. The written page, the ink on paper can’t keep up with my eye right now. Someday…



There is so much comfort in the fact that just because life is hard doesn’t mean I’m doing it wrong. It’s usually only harder when we pretend like it’s not. Carry on, Warrior.


The sickness was unrelenting for 9 days, cycling from one kid to the next. But thankfully (and shockingly), even white shag rugs can be cleaned.