weekend lookback, july 28

Row 1: Last day of camp | Summer storms moving in | New bathroom; Row 2: Summer supper

Row 1: Last day of camp | Summer storms moving in | New bathroom; Row 2: Summer supper

I'm so glad you guys still read on Fridays! Petra's right though, blogland has been quiet of late. I think the natural rhythm of summer (for those of us who are summer-hemisphered) is to blame, but I'm a big culprit all by myself. With work and fatigue and summer skies calling, well, it's easy to let the days slip past, isn't it? Maybe that's what summer is all about.

My week of camp was awesome. On Friday all the kids printed their favorite pictures for the Art Camp show which runs late next month. I'm beyond thrilled for them. Super impressed with the work they came up with. Everyone seemed to learn some stuff and have a good time, which was the ultimate goal, right? I was sad to see them go.

But! My bathroom is done! I showered in it last night (waving to Father Mike from over the top of the frosted window), and I pretty much want to spend all my time in there. It really does have the best light in the whole house so you can expect a lot of photos out of that room. Except food. Maybe.

13/14 {life}


You might have thought I've abandoned it, but I'm actually still doing a 365 project (a damn photo every damn day) (wink). It's actually still going well, except for the fact that I'm months behind in my editing, but that's a story for another day. (You think you have it hard? Try picking one photo to represent each day from your trip London and Paris. Now that's hard.

Anyhoo. Last week, I took pictures of Callum on his last day of 13 (the first three pictures here) and his first day of 14 for my photos of the day. A world of difference falls between 13 and 14 doesn't it?) 

Man-child. Phillies fan. Wing man (as in chicken wings.) Dog-lover, mad adventurer. He'd travel anywhere, go anywhere, move anywhere if you'd let him.  He's passionate, loyal, political, creative and intense. His hand always seems to be gripping a baseball bat, even an imaginary one. He's a worrier (that's a genetic defect, I'm afraid) and a non-sleeper (also seems to be genetic; we're working on that one). So much of who he is now I can see in the seeds of who he was so, so very long ago. Little man, big man.

His little starfish hand used to pat me on the cheek. 

He grabbed, and held, Neel's hand at Busch Gardens for a bit on Saturday. 

My heart.