So we’ve been on vacation for a while.
One solid week of it spent at the beach.
Filled with high tides and low tides, mudslides, and triple cherry virgin daiquiries.
Appearances were made under moonlight by “Hey Hey Crabs” – as named by the shorties in our crew while they hunted the side-skipping rascals by headlamp and plastic cocktail cup. Once in while, we’d find one little feller who’d missed the boat and hung out till sunrise.
It’s OK, Little Feller. The moon’ll be back tonight. . . . Just hang out for, like. . . 15 hours. We made friends with surf bums and poolside waitresses, slathered ourselves in pints of coconut sunscreen, and some of us braved pre and post storm waves. Some of us – *ahem* – attempted to brave them.
Then, after choking on bucket-loads of salt water, returned to shore weak kneed and shakey-elbowed.Done for the day of rough-wave jumping with minimal confidence in the skilled-swimming department.
Blended iced lemonades are more my speed. Under an umbrella. With a book.
Mama’s a watcher, not a swimmer.
And a 1000 piece puzzle in which I would not partake. Puzzles, in this lady’s book, are crazy making. Stick me in the kitchen instead. I’d rather make tacos, and fry beer-battered fish, and chop tomatoes for bruschetta. A cocktail just to the top right of the cutting board is a nice touch too. Now we’re here, in our home.
Coming home is so sad and still so nice at the end of sunny, surfy, carefree days.
It’s time to swing ourselves back into routine. Sort of. Maybe.
OK, maybe not yet. Time to plan meals and tidy up.
Seize days and live by the moment. Love by the second.
Remembering that it’s all fleeting. Life, really, is not under our control. I wish it was, but I’m reminded over and over again that I’m not the driver of this train.
Somehow though, it goes where I need it to go, whether I actually want to go there or not.
Summers, I’ve learned, always hold a mixed bag for me.
Some lovely, some ugly, but always something that needs doing.
And that’s the way life goes.
So far, the hubs and I have tackled roughly 24 combined vertical inches of stacked paper on the kitchen counter.
His has been lingering for about 6 months.
Mine has been lingering since Easter of 2013.
I’m not proud of this.
It’s just who I am.
A stack-of-paper hater/procrastinator.
But it’s gone now.
Don’t you dare come back, Paper Stacks. With your smug little faces. I’m a changed woman.
My counter space is MINE.
We’ve been cooking too. Tasty things that will eventually show up here.
But my camera has been tucked away, snug in the cupboard, while I hoard this family time to myself.
I’ll break it out and dust it off soon.
We made a version of this pesto rigatoni.
I recommend it. It was a hit all around – and that’s saying something given the kale content, which is: ANY.
Because my family doesn’t like kale – when they know about it.
Also? We made these. Again.
I fiddled with the flour content a little because they came out so thin, but just add a little more and: swoon.
Oh! And this for flashy dinner dessert with friends.
Aaaaand, I’m pretty sure my summer will not be complete until I try this cocktail.
I can’t. even. think.
Next? I don’t know. I’m ready for the beach again.
XOXO until next time, friends.