Cheese is my thing. My jam. My go-to snack. My favorite food. Everybody knows this about me. There are very few cheeses I do not like on the spectrum of cheese, from your mild and milky mozzarella to runny, barnyard-y washed rinds that were aged in holy French caves by ancient nuns.
We spent the late afternoon at the playground, the one that overlooks the ocean. It was unusually warm and many families were lingering as the sun dipped down like a Eucharist into the cup of the sea. No one wanted to go home on this last day of being outside without a sweater; we may not see another like this until May. Finally the parents, reluctant, looking to the horizon, rounded up their children and went home.
Sometimes you just have to put the kids to bed early, and invite a couple of grown-ups over for a night of snacks, games, music, and laughter. Since we live way far outside of town, through the woods, beyond numerous coves, at the end of a peninsula almost in the ocean, and getting a babysitter is costly and never easy, we often opt to stay in, and have a mini party on our own turf. It’s always fun to host a house party!
Every single day is a marathon (Not that I’ve ever run, walked, or even watched a marathon. Exhausting!).
Today, for example, I was up with Mina before dawn, so Malcolm let me sleep late: 7:15! Big Whoa. BUT! Violet had school and I had work. So it was a race to wash my face and throw a denim ensemble over my body, nurse Mina, make waffles, make more waffles, pack V lunch, write a little note, get her shoes – “NO, MAWM, KITTY SHOES!!!!!”, remember Malcolm’s shrimp, and drive across town to her preschool and back again so I can open the bookshop at 8:45. Ahhhhh, books.
This is it. The solstice was just this week. Summer is finally here. Driving home through the green roads with the windows open, we smell flowers and fresh cut grass and memories come flooding back. Everything is leafy green and beautiful. This is the time you look forward to, when your toes are always frozen in the deep of winter. This is the time you remember as idyllic and slow-moving, years into the too-fast future.
Last night, after a dinner hour when the girls painted the dining room in a fine mist of glitter and spaghetti sauce and drove me to the precipice of insanity, the girls were finally sleeping soundly. Mina snuffled on her belly in her crib under a quilt, and Violet in her bottom bunk buried under books, blankets and stuffed animals. Malcolm and I sat on the porch in our Adirondak chairs and discussed the impending summer. It was chilly, but we didn’t mind. There were peepers peeping in the pond across the road and stars streaked across the inky sky above our farmhouse near the ocean. We wrapped ourselves up in sweaters and made plans, anticipating the warm seasons.