Last week, I took the drive over to West Virginia for girls camp. That was a good drive and that was a good week. Soul food, really. The winding road was accompanied a few times by the laughter of a good friend, once by a few girls in the backseat, giggling away, fresh off their all-nighter, river-swimming, campfire-bonding, bug-repellant, girls camp high. And once accompanied by the quiet. Nothing but me and the road and a canopy of trees, letting flashes of sunlight drip in through the branches and down on my face as I sped through the hillside. Eastern summers are like therapy. Which is saying something considering that even as I sit here, there's a small fan on my desk, humming away and cooling the hot stickiness on my arms. It's the middle of the night but I'm pretty sure it's still 90 degrees.
After camp on Friday night, I accidentally fell asleep at 7:30 right after putting Everett down and didn't wake up until 7:30 the next morning. So that rocked. In some ways I felt sort of guilty for being a total granny about our one precious night together, reserved for romance and 7-11 Big Gulps in bed with a movie and things, but in other ways, sleeping for that long is at the very worst a transformative mom experience, and at the very best, a one-way-ticket to the most productive Saturday of your life.
After the aforementioned most productive Saturday of my life, we met up with Tyson again and went for some evening milkshakes at the dairy corner. I'm not the biggest ice cream person in the world, but I can really get behind a good milkshake. So can this little squirt. Distracted only by the occasional passing of airplanes, helicopters and the like.
After milkshakes, we jumped in the car and headed down the road in what started as a "turn down this way, there's this house that you HAVE to see" type of drive and slowly morphed into a "there's a tiny sleepy-head in the back so let's pretend this is a date and drive until sunset."
I love every second with him.
The sun went down, and we drove home to put our sleepy baby in bed together. That night, as I slipped my legs under our sheets, my toes ran into some of Everett's toys that had been buried and forgotten at the end of the bed. As I pushed them out with my feet until they dropped on the floor, it struck me just how much I loved discovering them there. Just like the colorful magnetized letters covering the side of my fridge and often my kitchen floor, they are a stamp of my motherhood. A plastic, music-making reminder that EVERETT WAS HERE. And not to get all cliche with stuff about the little things in life, but it REALLY IS THE LITTLE THINGS.