There is a little metal mail truck sitting beside me that was a gift from a visiting blog friend and her adorable boys on Friday. Silas has fallen in love with it and it's the first thing he runs for when we get downstairs after nap time . It's a reminder to me of the beauty of the internet and how "screen friends" can be become true friends in just a few hours.
A short stack of bright bowls sits on our coffee bar, making me smile thinking about a little Anthropologie and Chikfila field trip with girlfriends on Saturday.
Beneath my sweatshirt collar, there's a faint line where my chest got a little sunburnt while I sat basking in the warm sunshine during Si's Saturday nap. I had a good book in my hand, coconut ice cream in my bowl, and the baby was wiggling around in my belly. That was a good moment be in.
On Saturday evening, we took a walk down to the beach with Chris' parents and inadvertently met up with a small crowd of our church people. After gyros and fried seafood dinner on the beach, we trekked back to our house for the first bonfire of the season, complete with sampling Chris' first few batches of home-brew beer and s'mores. The pile of smoky sweatshirts waiting to be laundered by the stairs is a stinky and persistent reminder of that pretty-much perfect night. (Funny how the smell of a bonfire is so alluring in the moment, but just a few hours later, makes me want to gag.)
Chris' parents were here all weekend, and the best part is watching Si with them. He's finally at the age where he's old enough to get excited about their arrival, and several times during the weekend, he would take a running leap into Chris' dad's arms. I didn't get a single picture of them together, but I know Si won't soon forget wrestling with Grandpa on the living room floor or reading through the new books that Grandma brought him.
I love looking back at pictures I've taken during particularly beautiful weekend hikes, or the first time we walked the pier with Silas down in Florida. I can't deny the power of having moments big and small captured by a photo. But more and more, there is a tug inside of me to remain in the moment as it happens. I think blogging and Instagram have convinced a part of my brain that a photo will be the only way to remember, but I'm working on re-teaching myself to stuff my phone back in my bag and soak up the scent of Si's hair, the sound of Chris' laugh, and the words my friend is saying.