Summer has never been my favorite season, but I do love this stage: when the backyard is verdant and lush and loud with the jungle sounds of summertime bugs. Our fading hydrangeas show only a hint of their springtime peak of periwinkle and pink, and our neighbor's poplar has started to scatter some bright yellow leaves on the lawn. The other day Cecile and I made room in our raised garden for pumpkin, beet, and carrot seeds. The shoots have already come up, though something has been lunching on the beet sprouts, which is generating some new empathy in me for Mr. McGregor. August is the moment just before the turn, the pause at the top of a long breath. Perhaps that's why I'm losing momentum. These long, hot, hundred-degree days are for lemonades and hammocks, not for madly marching after two children. But onward we must march.
Speaking of marching: Genevieve is walk walk walking. Finally! She holds her hands in fists for balance and there is a hint of a Texan hitch to her step, and she is so, so proud of herself. As are we. I was hoping meeting this milestone would result in being carried less, but she's been really clingy lately. Another growth spurt or a tooth, I'm sure. And then there's Cecile, who made her way to the very tip-top of a really, really high climbing net this week. I watched silently as she carefully ascended; part of me trusting she wouldn't climb higher than she felt comfortable, another part of me thinking we'd be spending the afternoon in the emergency room. But I'm so happy I let her go for it. At the top she was hooting and shouting, "Look at me!" And then once she made it back to the ground, she said, "Mom, I'm so brave!" My heart swelled. You are a brave one, my girl.
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