Dear August. I Love You.
This weekend my littlest monster turned three. How I managed to be parenting one boy who is transitioning to puberty while the other is transitioning to underpants, seems either to be sheer genius, or a huge planning mishap. Either way, here we are.
There were birthday festivities.
And peaches and tomatoes. There will be peaches and tomatoes—and zucchini—from now until September. But it still won't be enough for me.
And we will travel on a ferry and swim in The Atlantic. And the children will bring sand into the house.
But it won't matter.
And the evenings will start earlier then they did last month. And we will play scrabble and sleep on the porch. And we will wear pajamas until noon and never put on shoes. And visit with friends and worry about seventh grade and cook everything on the grill and eat outdoors. And we will fret over how quickly it's passing us by.
And we will savor every delicious moment of it.