In my dreams, summer is a lazy void in the calendar, filled with blank spaces. But in my reality, it’s the exact opposite. All good things, just busy.
We’re thick into travel. Hurrying up, hastily packing and repacking, so we can get to the next place and “do nothing”.
Everyday is a crazy race filled, go-go-going until the toddler drops dead in his sandy tracks with his life jacket still on.
Each and ever day is good, but kinda overwhelming as well.
Wednesday night I pack up the kids (again), head back to Michigan, en route to Buffalo NY, by way of Canada. Paul’s going to meet border patrol for the first time, and I’m crossing my fingers all he needs is his birth certificate and a social security card.
Bitty baby passport? Nope, doesn’t have one.
This weekend my dad got out my old collection of super soakers, circa early 1990’s. The kids thought they were awesome, even if they couldn’t hardly hold up their weapons.
This is our summer.
*this morning I blogged over at Babble about another summertime delight, getting poison ivy on my boobs, while breastfeeding. Always an adventure, I tell ya…