Instagram Feed: Returned to Normal

One thing about being gone for much of June is that it took forever for me to feel like it was really, truly summer. In Paris, it was cool and cloudy, and the Michigan spring had been so cold and gloomy before we left. Up until last weekend, our family hadn't spent any time at Lake Michigan, hadn't been covered in sunscreen and sand, hadn't eaten inappropriate amounts of ice cream or stayed up to watch the sun set over the water or fallen asleep in the car, exhausted from a day of swimming in a pool with a diving board.

We've remedied that since we've been home, with a family reunion in Grand Haven (pool, lawn games, the same homemade vanilla ice cream we've been having there since I was a little girl), a trip to South Haven and Saugatuck (sandcastles, dinner out at Wally's, frisbee in the sand, and more ice cream), and a Sunday afternoon at the beach in Holland (with a stop for ice cream on the way home). We've caught fireflies, made blueberry pancakes for breakfast, instituted happy hour on the side porch as much as possible, dragged the sprinkler out, and spent at least one night in the hot tub looking at the stars way past our bedtime.

Then, this past weekend, we had two wonderful nights with good friends at their cottage. It meant paddle boarding, sandy hands reaching for snacks on the beach, hikes in the dunes, morning coffee and nighttime guitar on the deck, five very blond little heads at the dinner table (Luke's prayer: "Dear God, please help everyone to get more and more healthier and awesome, Amen") and reading bedtime stories, grown-up mishaps after the kids were in bed, holding other peoples' babies, water balloon launchers, great food, tons of laughter. Summer is here, indeed, and I've never been more glad and grateful for all the normal things.

Every Little Thing

A week ago, I was very reluctantly leaving this glorious beach

and the beautiful Jamaican villa we'd called home for the previous six days.

I feel like the girls are in this magical sweet spot for travel right now - no longer needing naps or structure or baby proofing or even a real mealtime or bedtime, but not yet cynical about the world or bored by their dumb parents - and I want to go everywhere and do everything with them. Last week, we were here, celebrating my brother's wedding at long last to the lovely woman I finally get to call my sister.

The trip, then, was about the wedding, but that was just one afternoon, so it also got to be about waking up every morning to read and drink coffee on a balcony, about swimming at all hours of the day and night in our own little pool, about cold Red Stripes and pina coladas, about kayaking and snorkeling, about climbing Dunns River Falls with the whole wedding entourage, about eating nearly every meal in our bathing suits, about guava jelly on toast, about drip castles, about making one another helpless with laughter several times each day. It was about ignoring email and phone calls. It was about reading the girls to sleep with extra-long stories each night. It was about hearing Jemma wake us up in the morning, singing from her room: The Beatles' "Good Day, Sunshine," or Bob Marley's "Three Little Birds," of course. Every little thing was (more than) alright.

The wedding? Was lovely. I don't think a single person got away with dry eyes, except maybe the two wide-eyed flower girls, both of whom were too intent on playing their roles correctly to tear up as Brett and Meagan exchanged vows under a palm-frond arch in a tropical garden. I followed everyone around, trying my best to capture the moment with my new-ish camera, and mostly just felt lucky to be part of such a happy day in such a happy place.

Blessed and Lucky

It was July 2nd or 3rd - who knows, I'd lost track of days anyway - and I was kayaking along the shore of Walloon Lake by myself, blatantly staring at the cottages I passed and noticing the boats docked out front, wondering idly what I'd name a boat if I were ever to own one myself. (I don't actually want a boat at all, ever, but I would like to have a friend or neighbor with a boat that I could ride on whenever I wanted.) Jason and I had recently seen an enormous one in Saugatuck named "Boat," which I loved, but I think I'd name it "Blessed and Lucky." Because, as Annie said to me a day or two later, snugged beside me as we rode on a family friend's borrowed pontoon for the entire afternoon, "It's super-lucky if you have a house on a lake where you can swim off the dock and catch toads and grasshoppers." Indeed.

Our 4th of July getaway up north was basically perfect, minus the fact that we were missing a chunk of family who up and moved downstate a few days before. Aside from missing them, we crammed in all the usual traditions, made a few new ones, reveled in the picture-perfect weather, swam every day, slept in a little, and celebrated a lot. There was a bike ride to Charlevoix to wade in the bay, pie at Jesperson's, a bath in the lake with peppermint soap, night swimming after fireworks, beer on the dock, a long run, steak, a hot and sticky parade, a box of Tom's Mom's cookies shared around a blanket in Harbor Springs, plenty of ice cream, some morning tennis, and swimming. Lots of swimming. Annie learned to dive off the dock, and we introduced the girls to "super diapers," where you put your legs into the arm holes of the lifejackets and float aimlessly in the lake.

We came back, reunited with cousins at Lake Michigan the very next day for some exhilarating wave-jumping, and caught Brandi Carlile with old friends at Meijer Gardens as the sun set on Sunday night, her lovely and impressive voice sending us off into real life again with a Hallelujah encore that gave me chills.

Blessed. Lucky.