Have you ever noticed that a three day weekend is sometimes better than a whole week’s vacation? Maybe it’s just me. But either way, it is, and it was.

We went to the farmer’s market. Jane watered plants on the patio. She also picked and smelled at least 40 basil leaves. Whatever floats your boat, girl.

There were fresh flowers on the table. The house smelled like laundry. I rearranged plates on the wall. Jane took naps. The dining room went from powder blue to alabaster white (more on that later). I drank a decaf vanilla latte and ate a cheese danish on Monday morning, in my pajamas, watching Good Morning America. That’s just straight luxury.

Jane drew her first legible drawing, a “wainbow.” She was so proud.

I found a thrift painting and added it the wall in the living room.

Mabel stayed at command central (on a quilt, on the couch, with a full view of the front window in case ninjas or pirates decided to invade).

This was my three day weekend.

I’d like a repeat, please.

This summer is a fog. It’s gone so fast. The autumnal solstice is less than two months away. Somebody pinch me. No really, pinch me, because I love fall so much.

It’s our first summer in this house, and with every season we discover something new and different. The Rose of Sharon bushes behind the patio, for instance. They’ve been blooming for weeks. I’ve never seen these flowers before, but they’re just magical.

Here are some of my favorite things this summer.

1. The BBC show Sherlock. Past seasons are on Netflix and it is really good.

2. Watching Jane eat biscuits with jelly. Beyond cute.

3. Hard boiled eggs.

4. Rain. Glorious thunder and rain.

5. Watching Sherlock while its raining. That’s redundant, but it bears mentioning.

6. Stephen King. I haven’t read his books since I was in my early 20’s and I’d forgotten how fantastic he is.

7. The Conjuring. JUST KIDDING. Ya’ll know I’m not going to see that. I can freak myself out all on my own, I don’t need help.

8. Cleaning the kitchen with candles on the window sill and Pandora on my phone.

9. Curly hair. I haven’t straightened my hair in over a month.

10. Maxi dresses. Not because I think they’re particularly flattering, but I don’t have to shave my legs for days. In the middle of July. That’s a true miracle.

 

Yesterday a  man kidnapped his mother and led police on a high speed chase, which ended in a neighborhood not far from here. I’m assuming there was mental instability at play, or drug issues, but the thought that sprung to mind when I read about it was, “Why is it always the mother?”

Whether it’s wearing them as a hat, or blaming them, or going all Norman Bates taxedermy-rocking-chair-I-love-you-forever-mommy… it’s always about the mother.

In our house, thanks to my darling toddler, it’s all about me. In the past this would have seemed like heaven.  I won’t lie, I like the spotlight. But now the spotlight is hot. It makes me sweat and chew my fingernails. It’s all about me. I got my wish.

It’s all about me when I go to the bathroom and she lies outside on the floor, one intense eye peering under the door while she wails, “Mommmmeeeeee.”

It’s all about me at 2 in the morning when she wakes up without covers and screams, “Mommmeeee.”

It’s all about me when I get ready in the morning and Jane rips the mascara tube out of my hands mid brush stroke and stripes underneath my eye with an ink black line, but I somehow don’t notice it until I get to work and a coworker mentions it, and it looks like I’m poking fun at Native American face painting, or worse, trying to be a football player.

When her food is too hot.

When she falls down and stubs her toe.

When she needs someone to make her dolls stand up and talk to each other.

When she wants someone to drink the imaginary tea she made.

When she needs to jump out and yell “boo.”

When she wants to pet Mabel, and Mabel won’t let her, and they chase each other around the living room, disgruntled, mad, hurt feelings on both sides…

It’s all about me.

It’s always about the mother.

And I’m cool with that.

Especially if there’s a glass of wine waiting at dinner.

I’m in a bit of a summer lull. There’s just something about the sound of neighborhood sprinklers at dusk that switches my mind into a slower, duller setting. I’m good for nothing but lie by a pool, which makes things complicated because we don’t have a pool and I have a full time job.

My boss went on vacation and brought me an embroidered lavender sachet from Paris. I’ve smelled it a million times. We’ve also been eating a lot of carrots and celery a lot lately, which also seems very French. Our 100+ temps and wilted hydrangea bushes? That doesn’t seem very French.

Jane is in love with stickers. For a while it was crayons, but now it’s stickers. She isn’t satisfied until she’s covered her face and arms with them, and then mine as well. Then 30 minutes later she pulls them off and says “ouch, you hurt me” to every sticker.

I finally finished painting her bedroom, only to discover a huge section of wall that needs another coat. I don’t think Jane will notice, so we’re in the clear for now.

She’s so big all of a sudden. I turn on her twinkle lights at night,  and she crawls in bed with her books. We let her read for another hour, and when I go in to turn out the lights I usually find her like this, asleep mid-book with her pacifier. She only uses pacifiers at night now. In the morning she wakes up and says, “Pacy only for night night.” I know we should take it away permanently, but it seems to be the last vestiges of her babyhood. So for now, we let her keep it.