Like water slipping through an open hand, there's something elusive about summer days. They keep streaming by, one right after another, and then I notice a new row of slashes across my calendar designating that another week of life has been lived.
In light of all this living, I've been quiet on the blogging front this past week. How have you been, my friends?
We celebrated the Fourth of July with family and friends by eating, watching fireworks, and arming my children, niece, and nephew with small-scale explosives (all in the name of America, of course.) It was glorious.
We've savored the evenings when we've sat around our fire pit, happy with our thoughts and conversation, listening to the crackling wood, and periodically swatting at air when the smoke wafts in our direction. I smile when my husband adds logs to the fire, his pleasure evident, because it supports my belief that there's a bit of a pyromaniac in every man.
The days have rolled by with various activities, too. I painted a wall in my family room that had been scratched, scuffed, nail-holed, and hand-printed into submission, which felt like a significant victory. On top of that, I finally began to refinish the end table that I snagged at a garage sale, and I started stenciling a few decorative canvases for the girls' bedrooms. (I can't wait to show the results when I'm done!)
I've made our weekly trek to the library for summer reading, had friends over for dinner, taught the kid's class at church on Sunday morning, and watched the episode of Brother vs. Brother that I had missed.
Basically, it's been regular, nondescript summer life -- kids in the backyard, dirt trampled on the floor, hair pulled back in a non-committal-ponytail kind of life.
I wouldn't want it any other way.