4th

I'm blogging again.

I realized today the last month was the least blogged month ever in over two years.

Wow.

Not that each day hasn't been full of sweet sayings and cherished firsts and notable routines and memorable valleys,

it's just that the 

hampers and dishwashers and reading and schedules and photography-ing and editing and 

dailyness

has taken up just a little more time lately.

Oh,

and my three children.

I'd love to blog a little upcoming about some lessons we're learning, I'm learning, we're practicing, we're living,

but,

in the meantime, 

I'm learning to be peaceful, present.

It's a

busy

good

season.

However,

this weekend was carved out for a little more down time,

kicked off with the 4th and a day of fishing and picnic-ing and swimming and relaxing.

Four generations pond side with just as many catfish caught.

One just might have flopped out on my leg on accident.

Slapped me with its slimy, scaly flippy self. 

I couldn't have hated it more.

And I scared my children half-to-death with my shrieks

and then spent the rest of the afternoon back-pedaling with strategic remarks on how fun this surprise was so as not to scar them for the rest of their existence.

I'm not sure how successful my attempts were.

And the picnic-ing was no less than delicious,

grilled meats and freshness.

It doesn't hurt to have some foodies around.





And the swimming?

It was loud and wet and spitty and exhausting.

Just as we grownups planned.



So that an early bedtime prevailed and the rest of the evening was spent kicking back with free flowing drinks and rich conversation.

(Follow me on Instagram to catch an outtake of the holy dialogue: Allisoncorrin )


But before bedtime,

pajama-clad and all,

we popped a few poppers

just for the surprise faces

and memories.

Thus,

another successful celebration.

One that even (surprisingly enough these days) got blogged.