Sunshine and scribbles

I have to admit, this is the first Memorial Day that I can remember where we weren't found camping in the mountains. I imagined my grandma sitting around the campfire in her plastic visor and flannel camping jacket, by herself, as she really was this weekend. She loves being alone, and has been most of my life, but for some reason, my heart wasn't entirely with me. It was there with her. And part of me felt a little lonely for those older days when we were younger.

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In my family, my cousins were more like siblings. And because we had very little money for summer vacations, we spent our school-free days camping together. A lot. And I've got to say, those memories are the sweetest to me. I treasure them. And miss them like crazy. Really, I do. Those barefoot, braided-hair, all-day-swimsuit-wearing days where, with sunkissed noses, we cared about very little, cared always about each other, and always counted down the days until we met again. Laughing and playing, and growing up so fast.
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Life is beautiful.

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Really and truly. It's beautiful whatever stage you find yourself in. Childhood, parenthood - there is magic in it all. And I want for myself to be what my mother was, as a mother and a friend. As someone who saw the importance of togetherness and family. Even if it meant packing a million things and returning home with twenty-five loads of laundry that she would barely finish up by the time we packed it all up again. All again - here's to marshmallows and chocolate and bike riding and frog-catching and lake swimming and mountain hiking - here's to playing all day and sleep-crashing at night. Here's to childhood. And magic. And summer. And making memories that we won't soon forget.