My grandma always said that Summer was not for sewing. I thought she was crazy. With all that extra daylight there should be plenty of time for playing outdoors
and sewing indoors, right? Yet here I am, run ragged from outings and adventures with nary a stitch to show for it.
Our house is slowly coming together.
Slowly. We're all sunkissed and bruised from swimming and climbing trees and playing at beaches and parks and exploring various shores. We've ridden ferries, seen dinosaurs, watched air shows and hydroplane races, but no sewing. I feel like I blinked and July was gone. To be fair, I am 4000+ pages into George R R Martin's
Song of Ice and Fire series, so I've obviously found a few minutes to myself here and there. But my fabric piles, all washed and pressed, all summery and stripey and filled with boy picked prints, have sat for months.
Wah wah. I'm not really complaining. How could I? My life is filled with wonder. It's just that sometimes it doesn't feel like my own. But if I have to live someone else's life for a few years who better than my two imaginative, playful boys?
I came back from the ocean feeling a little brainless. Like if you held your ear up to my empty head you'd hear the sea? We just had the best time and I can't get myself back to landlubbing norm. Kites and sand dollars, dune grass adventures and driftwood hideouts are on my mind. 
And the waves. I swear standing knee deep in crashing waves is the best possible power source for my human battery. But more than any of this, I loved having my family (particularly that handsome, hard working guy I married a few years back) all to myself for a few days.
I could have stayed for a year. But we're home and I'm feeling bratty about sharing my boys with the world at large. I'm really not complaining. There are worse things than discovering that you rather enjoy your family! But as I said, I am feeling brainless and distracted, like some part of me is still beachcombing.
