It is totally and completely a death sentence to a blog post to give it a deadline. For instance, if someone writes that they’ll have a post up by, say, Monday, those very words can be considered the signature on the death certificate for Monday’s post. Because, really? Who LIKES to write on a deadline? Not most writers, that’s all I know.

The best writing doesn’t happen on deadlines, anyway, but… I digress.

Although, come to think of it, I wasn’t promising more mediocre writing on Monday, was I? No, the pledge was for a big ol’ load of pictures.

(I’m tempted to tell you what I just typed instead of “big ol’ load” and then erased once I realized what I’d said. But I won’t, because it was funky–though not bad–slang and I’m not that far along in my Twelve Step People Pleasers Anonymous Program yet. Ha.)

Okay. Y’all.

(Yes, I’m a SoCal girl, but I’m allowed to say y’all because I have an Alabamian staying at my house this week. She’s now using “TOTALLY” in every sentence, so I figure that gives me leave to use her words, right? Exactly.)

Okay, Y’ALL.

Our Summer in Pictures.

And, if you couldn’t care less, just give that scrolling finger a workout and head to the clip at the bottom. It’s amazing how much about our summer can be said in one quick PhotoBooth session.

Although these first couple snapshots pretty much sum it all up, too…

The sand.

The Sea.

The pool. (This is the small one, though we also frequent the big one.)

Naps.

Or, more likely… no naps.

Brothers.

Friends.

Sweetness.

For the first time ever… truly, ever… I’ve actually relished these summer days. My memory glances back and grasps at pleasant bits here and there, but mostly it just finds splashes of chlorinated water evaporating as soon as they hit the sweltering, oppressing heat. Every summer I remember is clouded in a fog of headaches and heat lethargy–the result of a strange “heat illness” I’ve dealt with all my life–the darkness of closed blinds, the hum of fans running in every room. Last summer was my first living away from the oven of the desert and yet it found me with two tiny ones and a deployed husband. My beach trips equaled a grand total of two and I only hit the pool with my little non-swimmers when I was back in the above ground pool of my childhood, surrounded by several other adults.

But this year–this year, it’s been different.

This is the kind of summer I’ve always imagined people enjoyed. The kind I read about in books and watch on screen. The boys and I drink smoothies full of local fruit in the balmy mornings before heading to the beach, the gym, the pool, the pool at the gym. Some days it’s just the three of us, most we meet friends. I guide two wet-headed boys into fan-cooled bedrooms in early afternoon where they–usually–promptly crash for a few hours. Then comes my dream time… when I curl up in the couch corner with a book, a plastic cup of crushed ice and water and a fan oscillating in the living room. Dinner has been understated the past few months–quick meals, cool meals, whatever doesn’t require much forethought or heating up of the oven. John rides his bike to and from work every day and comes in the front door sweaty around 5:30 every evening and a little later is fresh and clean, kissing my shoulder while I finish dinner. Evenings–Daddy and the boys wrestle on the floor, devotions with all four of us piled on the couch, bedtime kisses, talking with my beloved with cottage cheese and frozen pineapple for dessert (or, more decadently, mint chip ice cream) the salt breeze cooling the house while we sleep. A bit dreamy, all of it.

But, for the first time, and in spite of–or perhaps because of–the difficulties of the past year and the ones we anticipate next year, we’re enjoying our summer. Loving it, really.

Daddy and Bubbie snuggling outside on a summer night.

Flying.

Troysie and his Grammie–his girl, the love of his life.

Family of Four. My family? How crazy is this life I lead?

Painting in the driveway. Shirtless except for the Crayola smock.

The crown jewel of July–a little boy, not quite three and a half, who just up and decided to write his own name without a bit of prompting, or, really, any practice. Perhaps I’ve underestimated him?

Movie night with buddies. Popcorn? Do we get popcorn, Mommy?

Colorado. Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Race car drivers.

Too tasty to use hands. Grandma’s an amazing baker. (Every pun intended, Those Who Know Us Personally.)

Haircuts.

Freshly shorn. And happy.

Stealing kisses.

Bubbly!!

Exuberant.

And pensive.

The girlies–plus Merritt. Our miniature family reunion day.

New baby girl cousin… cuddly and precious.

The Cousins. All six of ‘em. The three oldest girls are John’s brothers’. The baby is his sister’s. And, obviously, the boys are John’s and, you know, MINE.

Uncle John and some of the girlies.

I wuvs this face.

Picnics.

The king of my heart in his mountain man throne.

(I’m a big fan of The Corny.)

Going ‘Round… and ’round… and…

That’s Mt. Elbert in the background. ETA: I was just informed by the resident mountain expert that I apparently don’t yet love these mountains enough to tell them apart in pictures. Forgive me, Mt. Massive. The inhabitants of John’s hometown claim it as their very own.

Grandma time.

And nappie time.

The mountain wildflowers are breathtaking.

Especially if you have allergies, but, you know…

And that’s Mt. Massive. The other peak they claim and love as if it’s a person. I’m beginning to do the same.

Mommy has this thing for stealing kisses, so it seems.

Learning to climb rocks with a (patient) buddy.

And now.

And NOW.

The reality of my every day: