Voyage - Day 7

Summer is a collection of days, like beads on a rosary, periodically interrupted by moments of pure, unspoiled sweetness. I've never tasted a rosary, but, I think you know what I mean. It's the first strawberry, the first ice cream cone, the first bike ride, the first inhale of salt-spray-laden ocean air. It's the first sip of home brewed sun tea, it's the first night spent in a tent (the one you build in your bedroom using a bunkbed, diningroom chairs and old quilts) whilst watching an old Indiana Jones adventure. It is a perfectly burned hot dog, a sticky marshmallow, the smell of sunscreen mixed with the scent of sweaty babies, it is the song of cicadas and locusts and crickets. It is the smell of night-blooming jasmine and pick-up kickball games. It is imagined (and unimagined) wars fought with water balloons and nerf dart guns (nerf guns should be the weapon of choice for post-nuclear countries, "Mr. Gorbechev, tear down this wall...and while you're at it, throw in the missile silos. Gentlemen, take up your nerf guns!) Today, summer was eating breakfast at 11am, and practicing the guitar and coloring 8 million pictures, and declaring them all masterpieces worthy of refrigerator space. My fridge is starting to look an abandoned storefront in Brooklyn (minus the "escort services" ads.) I don't want to sound ungrateful, I love my boys and I love having them around, I love them in all their mess and mayhem! I have a strange, perhaps maudlin, desire to document the insanity of modern family life. Hopefully this doesn't turn out like my misguided attempt at homemade fondant....more on that later.