July was batshit insane.
Which is par for the course with us.
(Seems I kind of like it that way. Mike wishes I didn't.)
I flew to Portland. I flew to San Diego. I squeezed in some runs where I could. I lost a writing gig. I gained perspective. I connected, I ate, I lounged on the couch and watched old Veronica Mars episodes and new True Blood ones.
I played with my son. (And finally cut his too-long hair.)
I sipped wine under the hot sun and held my husband's hand.
I realized that true friends leave out guilt from conversations and they instead insist on encouragement. (I guess learning this at 28 is better than learning it at 29 or any year thereafter.)
Molly turned seven, and she's still our favorite dog on earth. (She's Kyle's favorite anything on earth.)
I have big plans for August and those plans include slowing the hell down (right after I take a quick trip to NYC for BlogHer). I'll also be taking Kyle to swim lessons, organizing my kitchen, cooking at home way more than I did in July (since we're not eating out this month), putting my feelers out for a new writing gig I can be passionate about, and running as often as I can since my 10K is next month.
Maybe we'll throw a party. Maybe we won't.
Some other things I'd like to do: finally learn to poach a damn egg, go to a concert, not melt into a puddle during Texas' hottest month, read three books, bake, dance with Kyle, and kiss my husband for no reason other than I still like kissing him.
Kyle's a dream, my husband's such a decent human being I'm constantly inspired by him, my house is usually in shambles but it's still a pretty happy place to be, and I am thankful everyday for air conditioning, my son's grandparents, Netflix, and the Food Network.
Life is sweet.
Here's to August.