We drove north on Saturday, visiting family for a picnic and friends for dinner. I slept in the car, both ways, because I'm a terrible co-pilot.
Sunday turned grey and we opened windows and doors to let the breeze in. I spent the early part of the morning learning and coloring and drinking juice boxes with my Sunday school class. He took charge of grocery shopping and making lunches for the week so I could have time to write and work on my last case study of the semester.
I find myself six weeks from thirty, exactly and nowhere near where I thought I'd be. April swallowed me up -- I feel as though an entire month passed in just a day's time and left me spinning, wondering what happened. May and June bring the end of our school years and, with that, the start of summer Fridays for me, summer every-days for him. I'm daydreaming of slower weeks, of more patience, of more sunrises and sunsets watched from the deck.
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