Summer—the most wonderful time of the year, in spite of Christmas carols stating otherwise.
Swimming and sundresses and Birkenstocks and never being too cold.
Baseball games with mom friends who have delightful puppies that I get to pet and play with and give back again.
Taking the boys to the lake. Jumping off of rocks and skipping stones and the freezing bite of water against sunburned skin.
Sitting outside and writing under the wisteria-covered pergola.
Summer thunderstorms on a covered porch when you don’t have to leave the house.
The smell of honeysuckle in my driveway as the kids as I rollerblade back and forth. The feeling the hot sun on the tips of my shoulders.
Editing stories that make me laugh out loud even though they are my own words.
Drinking wine and watching movies outside on the porch, or the beach, or anywhere the laptop has signal.
Sleeping without clothes or even socks. No 6:30 am hockey practice. No 7 am school drop off. Naps. Okay, naps are fabulous in any season, but I’m writing them down anyway.
Always carrying Lactaid pills so I can eat ice cream at any moment. Spitting cherry pits and watermelon seeds in the grass.
Reading good books and filling up with beautiful stories, even if the pages get a little wiggly from the humid beach air.
Marshmallows, fireflies, campfires, and good things that happen only after dark.
