This hot and sticky summer

This summer has been hot days and cold iced tea, week after week, as we make our last memories as a family of five and prepare to become six. And what treasured memories they have been...

Reading poems to the kids as we drive along the dark highway, breaking up the arguments and the he-touched-me's with some Roald Dahl and A. A. Milne and whatever else I could find on my phone.

Going to sleep smelling like a campfire and waking up eager for that one-dollar five-minute shower. New friends at the campground and new words brought back to the tent and new freedoms as they head off to play some more while we try (again) to get the campfire to stay lit. Hiking, museums, and dinosaurs (oh my).

The boy's first time getting lost in the neighbourhood, and remaining calm while walking fast and then relief and hugs and dried tears and reassuring words. And then a printed map and a review and trying again and sweet success. Swim lessons and ice skating lessons, badges and goals.

Weeding the garden again and again (and again and again and) the way it becomes one more reminder of the inner weed-yanking that must happen endlessly within me. Fresh carrots eaten daily, green tops strewn around the yard by children with more pressing matters to attend to than keeping the yard tidy: playing soccer, riding bikes, drinking cold water from the tap.

Cherry stained fingers and boxes of blueberries, handfuls snatched by hungry children every time they walk by. Blueberry jam spread on toast, jars of it stored for future less bountiful months.

A certain baby girl's second birthday, with balloons and chocolate zucchini cake and gifts and a new birthday skirt, elastic still safety pinned together at the back because she won't take it off long enough for me to finish the waist. A new backpack and a beautiful Oma-made quilt and puzzles and joy and celebration and singing, all for this delightful child.

A new van and a borrowed bassinet and soft lambskin and tiny clothes, all in preparation for the newest little one, any day now. Waiting. Waiting.

Good moments and bad moments all jumbled together, grace and impatience and apologies and naps and love and laughter and tears. Every day a bit of everything, messy but mostly good, I think.