Bounty

It's somehow the end of June, a fact I can hardly believe except that our days are passing in such a blur of color and heat and motion that I suppose it does make sense, a little.  We run in and out of the house, flinging a bathing suit over a door knob to dry, piecing together lunch out of some yogurt, frozen grapes, and crackers.  I bought a new two-pack of sunscreen at Costco yesterday because I could see that our current stock was not going to last us through July, much less through the rest of the summer.

Jason and I went to see the Indigo Girls last night at Meijer Garders with Matt and Sarah.  We feasted on cold chicken sandwiches with prosciutto, fresh mozzarella and tomatoes, and pesto.  We gobbled down orzo salad and fruit and peanut butter cookie-Nutella sandwiches.  We drank giant cups of summer wheat beer with rivulets of sweat pouring down our backs.  We sang along to "Galileo" and "Closer to Fine" and "Power of Two."  The sun set, the breeze came up, and I felt so incredibly lucky to have that moment - outside, surrounded by happy, mellow concert-goers, everyone smiling.

Sarah and I were talking between acts.  "I'm the most flexible I've ever been, right now," she said.  And I agreed (not that this is saying much for me, as I'm still on the far end of the Consistency and Routine spectrum), realizing that we've been staying at the pool a little longer, pushing dinner back a little later, stretching bedtime out to enjoy a few last minutes outside in the sprinkler.  The house is in no way CLEAN, and I couldn't care less.  I'd rather go for a late-night run than get down on my knees and wash the floor.  I'd rather be playing outside than cooking dinner, so dinner is sometimes chicken nuggets and sometimes homemade pesto on pasta, and either way, everyone is FINE.

The girls are happy, glad to be free to run and splash and play.  They had their first lemonade stand the other day, an idea Annie came up with all on her own.  I squeezed the lemons, they did the rest, right down to pouring the cups and collecting the money and making the sign.  They were so proud.  Later, they were so sticky.

Another friend e-mailed me this week.  She wrote, "Are you sometimes just awestruck at how joy-filled life can turn out to be?  Sometimes I feel like I don't even deserve all this blessedness."  Deserve it?  No.  Feel grateful for it?  Yes.  Every single second.