My kids wake me up at 7 a.m. I stagger out of bed and stumble into their room, blur still in my eyes. I lift the 16 month old from her crib and change her diaper as the six year old hyper-actively dumps her entire dress up bin onto the floor. The 16 month old chooses our morning meditation, Go, Dog. Go!. I read.
We traipse upstairs. I grind coffee beans and the air soon ripples with the smell of wakeful magic. I pour a cup and take a sip. I dole out scrambled, farm fresh eggs and pieces of toast slathered in Earth Balance spread and cherry butter.
The kids play. Somehow or another, we all end up dressed for the day. I clean house: vacuum, dust, sweep, mop, scrub toilets and showers, water plants,declutter. I look over my shoulder and everything's back to the way it was pre-cleaning. I turn down the AC, drink some ice water and grab my keys. I'm off to get a summer hair cut.
I come home. The 6 year old tells me she hopes my hair will grow longer again soon. I grab a sandwich and some goldfish crackers. I finish and fold laundry. Insessant barking jolts me from my mundane task.
I go outside. The dog has broken into the garden and is barking at something. I yell at him to get out and go to see what's out there. A turtle. I go to call the family. They come out to see. On the way back to the garden I notice something transparent shimmering in the sun. I bend down for a closer look. A freshly shed snake skin lies curled through the grasses. I can see the shape of the head and the pattern of the tail. I shiver.
We look at the turtle and decide to leave it for now. We shut the dog inside and pluck some ripe cherry tomatoes and harvest a mess of green beans. When we check later, the turtle is gone.
The 6 year old wants to make cookies. We mix sugar and shortening, flour and eggs and add the chocolate chips. The oven is hot. I turn the AC down again and drink some ice tea. The 16 month old screams and cries between each bite of cookie and sip of milk. The cookie did not bake quickly enough and her reset button is broken. I put her in her crib for a nap. She doesn't go to sleep, but she stops crying--for awhile. I go upstairs an mix a batch of pizza dough.
We set up the kiddie pool and fill it with water. It's June and it hasn't been hot until today so the water's still cold. I pull the kids into their swimming suits. They splash, play, and shiver and shriek over wasps that dare to land on the edge of the pool for a drink.
I try to weed the garden while keeping an eye on the kids. The sun is beating me and sweat pours down my nose. I manage to get the front corner by the gate weeded before I hear scuffling behind the shed. I see the dog scurry out into the yard. He drops to the ground and mouths something. It's the turtle again. I chase the dog inside. Meanwhile the 16 month old attempts to crack the turtle open like a walnut with a croquet mallet. I decide it's time to go inside.
I help strip off wet swimsuits, dry the kids with a freshly laundered and folded towel, and pull them back into their clothes. I run them upstairs. We drink ice water and I turn down the AC. It's time to start working on supper.
I punch down the pizza dough, stretch it into rectangles and bake it. I fry bacon and gather a few leaves of basil and a sprig of oregano. I manufacture my own pizza sauce from canned tomato sauce. I top crust and sauce with fresh garden greens, crumbled bacon and white, horseradish cheddar. I make a cheese pizza for the kids. The bacon and greens pizza is amazing, worthy of a venue at any specialty pizza shop.
I wash dishes. The kids play chase with their dad. I run bath water and pour in the bubble bath. The kids give themselves Santa beards as the calming scent of lavendar wafts through the air. I pull the kids into their PJs and feed them a bedtime snack. We watch two episodes of Ruby and Max. My husband falls asleep on the couch.
I take the kids downstairs and help them brush their teeth. I put them in bed. They barely protest. I watch the long evening light fade from the room as their breathing rolls into soft snores. I stay just a little longer, soaking in the moment.
A day of summer--as perfect as a any day can be.
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