making something ordinary into something extraordinary

We just returned from our 5th annual summer trek up to Pennsylvania. We had three weeks of eating outside every day, hiking, four wheeling, gun shooting, canoeing, swimming, catching up with relatives, and lots of exploring. We visited Niagara Falls, saw the church history sites in Palmyra, New York, and watched the Palmyra Pagaent. We visited Cleveland friends and saw historic Kirtland. Joe, Logan, my dad, and my brother Brent hiked 45 miles of the Appalacian Trail, and the rest of us drove down to Washington D.C. to meet them when they finished. We ended our trip with two full days in Washington D.C. and the realization that we could have spent many more days there. 

It has been a wonderful summer. 

We're happy to be back home, of course. We are almost caught up on laundry, the fridge has been restocked, and play dates have been scheduled on the calendar. The countdown to the first day of school has begun. (Insert sad face here.) I am already missing the cooler weather we enjoyed back east, and yesterday was a long day of hiding inside with the air conditioning and trying to convince the kids that there were better things to do than play wii and watch Netflix. Joe didn't get home until later, and after fighting off a few temper tantrums, I fed the kids peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner and sent them to bed with a book before it was dark outside.

I woke up today with the desire to start over and to make this ordinary, hot Texas day into something more. More enjoyable, more productive, more memorable. We usually go to the pool on Wednesday mornings, so I skipped my shower (huge sacrifice) so that I could actually get in the water and play with my kids. Like--do flips and handstands and dance underwater play instead of the carefully wading and avoiding water in my face thing that I usually do. 

I pumped up all the bike tires, and told the kids we were riding to our friend's neighborhood pool--about 1 mile away. There was a little reluctance (yes I know it's hot, no flip flops, yes helmets, you can make it), but I couldn't help feeling a little lump of satisfaction as I herded my not so little family along: boy, girl, boy, girl, boy. Logan, Madi, Grant, Me, Ammon. Bike, bike, scooter, bike, bike trailer. 

We encouraged each other, called out directions, and stayed together just fine. 

We returned home hungry and thirsty, so we hauled out the griddle and the kids made some quesadillas and gobbled up three dry pints of blueberries. 

Ammon and I read Superman's First Flight, and he's taking a nap. The others are content and quietly reading.

And now I'm going to go enjoy a long, hot shower.