I've got a list of things to do. Packing for anything over one weekend is daunting to me. I have to see everything laid out. (I'd rather have too much than too little.) The sunlight pouring through the closed blinds is calling me out, "Go ahead, step through the glass..."
I can't resist. I shrug and give up the "to do" list for a little while. The door slides open and the air is without conditioning. I sit in the shade, and watch my little ones splash in the water, roll the giant ball, point squirt guns at the sprinkler.
I venture to the front yard where the heat is heavy. "You wanted this," I remind myself as my skin immediately starts to shrink against my bones. I turn on the hose and love the feel of the cold water on my feet (and four more little feet join in) while my body is warm to the core. We plant flowers that had been in tiny pots, but will no longer sustain the heat without being watered at intervals throughout the day. We release them to the soil where their roots will be cool with less effort.
We marvel at colors that have exploded in our mystery garden. I have always wanted a wild English cottage garden, and when I scattered those seeds into the earth, I had high hopes of such a tangle. I check daily to joyfully exclaim over the new blooms that present themselves open faced for my approval.
We move back into the shade, where the warmth is more delicate, and we begin to explore. I gasp in excitement when I turn to see that the first sunflowers have unfurled.
Those majestic sun worshippers...
...they make me smile every time.
We come down the path and realize that the twigs we planted mere years ago have turned into our own little magical forest. Next we will sprinkle pasture grasses, wildflower seed, and turn the rows in between to meadow.
Then there's the garden. After all the rain, and now the sunshine, our garden starts to creep outside the box. The beans, the zucchini, the corn, and the cucumbers have all intermingled. It's a social sort of garden.
All the while, I know there's lots of chores waiting for me inside...
But I also realize that these long summer days pass too quickly. We leave on Thursday for a 10 day vacation, and I know that when we return, things will be different. The cucumbers and the zucchini will be ready for eating. Maybe we'll have tomatoes. We'll sure have lots more sunflowers. The mystery garden will be in full bloom. It will be hot.
I'm fully satisfied to take advantage of each feet-in-the-swimming-pool-evening, even if it means packing takes several days to complete. I might forget to put something in our bags, but I definitely won't forget the moments I stepped through the sliding glass door, and felt the promising kiss of the sun on my face; Or heard the bell laughter of my children; Or took a look around me and realized that I am the queen of my very own wonderland.
It is very suitable to his and Emily's artistic natures.
His apartment has sweet details like an old elevator (that runs smooth as silk,) and golden call boxes, wood floors and picture windows.
When the kids got tired of walking around the city, we went back inside, and James demonstrated all of the different card tricks he's been mastering. 
We admired the rooftop garden on a house across the street. I also pined over a few pieces of furniture in the thrift store across the other side of the street that I did not have the space to take home with me. (Oh perfect dresser, beam thyself to my waiting arms.)
Emily came home and let the girls put stickers all over her. We then went to Starbucks for coffee. Emily commented that if she were a mother, she would surely have strong arms (as she nobly packed my little girlies all around the town.)
We said our goodbyes a million times over, and on we traveled to our good friends' home to spend the night. We were met with hugs, fresh flowers, and a yummy taco dinner.
After stuffing ourselves silly, we made sure the swings at the park were child safe. When our lovely friend Kate mentioned reservoirs and turrets, we were ready to head up the hill to do a little exploring. 
They say the water here is the sweetest. Ember stepped in to see if it met expectations. (It did.)
(I think these two were checking to make sure there were no tigers.)
We watched the sun set in good company.
And stayed up a little too late laughing together. 
We spent the early part of the following day with Rory's grandparents where we were treated to lunch out, and a few goodies to bring home (including one fresh raspberry pie, which did not survive long enough to photograph.) 
I'm always amazed at the way my heart swells up when that flag goes flying by, or when thousands of people, all going about their own business, pause in whatever they might be doing to watch the fire lighting up the sky and sing along, "This land is my land, this land is your land...This land was made for you and me." 
There has always been a sheltie in my parents' house ever since I can remember. We are addicted to shelties. My faithful friend was Lucky, a roly poly black and white fellow with big ears. He liked to chase me up and down the fence. 
When I was pregnant with Ember, mom and dad bred Isabella with a little fellow named Zack. We were thinking she'd have just a few puppies, but our tough little Isabella bore six. My family wasn't meant to breed animals. We have a tendency to grow attached. We want the babies to have a home that's just right for their personality. We don't want to find them, a few years later, when all the life has been bred out of them, sitting in the local shelter (yes, we had this happen with one of our persian cats.) When it came down to it, I really wanted one of those pups for myself, but Rory and I weren't ready for the responsibility with the birth of our first daughter so near. My parents ended up keeping three of the puppies. 
Then, there is Wylie. When he was little, he had very few markings, and looked just like a coyote. This photo is perfectly representative of his personality. He is Billie incarnate. I have yet to see how he responds when I yell "hippies," but I'm pretty sure he would freak. He's tentative and skittish.
And this little sweetie, who has her mama's kind eyes, is Rosie. She is my dad's dog through and through. She was the runt of the litter, and almost died several times in her first days of life. She just couldn't get in there with all the wriggling roly polies to feed. My dad spent numerous sleepless nights feeding her to make sure she lived. Now she's a tall and lanky doe eyed beauty. I call her gazelle since she's so long and skinny. When she runs, it's like a bolt of lightning streaking by your legs, all nose and limbs. 
Like any true sheltie, they like to chase things: brooms, tails... 
And they're ultra sweet. They are loyal little companions. Now, if they just didn't bark so much, I might be able to talk my husband into letting me have one...
...and thoroughly enjoyed,
family was gathered from near and far,
both the young...
...and the wise,
new friendships forged,
and old friends relished another chance to be together,
cousin Short did some teasing,
we hugged,
and we celebrated the life of one fantastic woman.
The girls and I packed up and headed out to my folks' house on Friday after I got home from work. My mom was throwing a surprise birthday bash for my great Auntie's 80th, and we didn't want to miss any of the fun. We stayed up too late and had strawberry milkshakes for dinner.
