I began this summer with grand plans and while many of those plans have barely seen the light of day, it has been a summer to remember, nonetheless.
My mushy mind searches words to attach to the memories of these hot days, but only fleeting images and soundbites of laughter are heard.
The evening when the girls ate a half watermelon between the two of them.
The week my sister visited. Little notes and envelopes passing between Morgan and her Aunt Becky all week. Giggling.
Laughter at a beautiful wedding, particularly when our toddler flirted with an older boy by showing him her skills at jumping. That's right: jumping.
And somehow between the mundanity of laundry, the repetitive act of feeding growing children and paying bills, somehow... nearly ten years has passed between me and the man I call husband. How does a decade catch up like that?
There is a maturity to our relationship that I find beguiling:
How can ten years afford us the opportunity to know each other so well and yet feel like our journey has just begun?
Each of us hold knowledge of the other's weaknesses-- the weaknesses that are also our strengths. The kind, uplifting patience of Dan is evident not only within our home, but also on the road when I would rather he was a more assertive driver. The ten years of our marriage tell me to quiet myself and smile at my happy situation.
The grand plans for a ten year anniversary getaway have been tabled for the time being. In its stead is a freshly brewed pot of coffee every morning and an invitation from Dan to meet under the pergola for some morning air and conversation before we enter the day. I'm unsure how this open air structure seems to provide such solace and shade and peace, but it does; it's so much like Dan in that way. I'm not "indoors" or "outdoors" when I'm under the pergola and somehow that image mirrors my relationship with Dan: not bound by walls, yet protected.
As Dan and I sit under the pergola, he mentions fall, his favorite season, and muses about how delightful it will be on crisp autumn days to sit under the pergola. I playfully tell him to hush; these days are the ones we are given and we must enjoy the ones we have now, not live in the "end of the summer" mode, but retrain our minds to see summer as a maturing of sun to earth.
I'm settled deeply in the arms of mature summer and have no intent of moving.
