Today was a special day. Halina and I had a mommy-daughter date. So overdue. So needed. So welcome. So dang easy-peasy. We went to the Cal Academy of Sciences in S.F. It is rare and delightful to be alone together, and so everything seems charming: gassing up, washing the filthy windows, grabbing cafe treats for the road and cash for the bridge. All of that hopping in and out of the carseat so effortless with only one older-ish kid involved. We opened the sunroof, as Daddy advised. We held hands everywhere.

In the academy, we went into the rain forest and aquarium and the earthquake shake house. We had a yummy lunch outside (warm day) and saw the baby ostriches. We went up to the living roof and even watched the planetarium show. (I kept asking Halina if she was sure she wanted to because it can be very intense and I devised an exit plan in case she got uncomfortable, but in the end I was the one covering my eyes to manage the terrifying flying/vertigo sensation while Halina whispered that I was silly.)

At the academy.

On the living roof.

If there was any bitter in this sweet, sweet day it was the achy regret that I didn't do this more in the last two years. I wish we had played preschool hooky twice a month and arranged a sitter for Luke and gone on regular special outings to really just be together. Because I love being with Halina. There are understandable reasons why I didn't get that done even after I knew clearly that I wanted to do it. I try to repeat those reasons to myself when I am feeling panicky with loss. As a friend coached when I brought this up recently: forgive, forgive, forgive.

Friends. I am just so thankful for them. Last weekend Chris was camping through Monday. It was a hard weekend in some ways. I was not at my best. Sunday evening we had an impromptu play date that started at the park and ended up at our house through dinner, bath, and jammy time. It made all the difference just to have this other mom and her kids here for a few hours to share life, food, and dirty dishes. Families are for enjoying, right? Sometimes we forget. Sometimes we remember.

Jammies and milk with friends.

School. A quick update: Halina seems to love it. She seems to be blossoming right before our eyes. She has made friends. She comes home every day wired with the thrill of being, as far as I can tell, in love with her school. Yesterday she said nooooo in disappointment when I told her today would be Saturday, and therefore a no-school day.

Halina with her enormous backpack/lunchbox duo, which she loves. 

Rock climbing.

Luke. I want to just take a moment to say that Luke is beyond-beyond with his cuteness and sweet, thoughtful nature. I am nuts about him. I also want to note, before this treasure vanishes, that he still refers to himself as Lukie instead of "I" or "me." So, "Lukie want it; give it to Lukie" and "Lukie do self!" And "Lukie ride in tow truck. Lukie talk on CB radio," which refers to a recent car repair event that was a drag for me but a highlight of his young life.

Riding in the tow truck.

Life is good.

He adores Halina. When she's at school, he asks for her. "Where's Nina?" he says suddenly. "Do you remember where Halina goes each morning?" I ask. "School!" he says after a pause. Then, "Pickup Nina, Mommy?"

Halina's hand-painted hands.

Tonight he fell asleep without nursing, he was so tired. But first he said a couple times, in his gentle little voice, "Train faw away, Mommy." Thinking of trains, I guess. And then: "Sound," referring to the chorus of crickets on this warm, late summer night. We lay together in the dark, listening.

Halina's first day went really, really well.

Here they are before getting in the car in the morning (pretty much on time!). I love the bit of fierceness in these two sweet faces.

This girl is ready for kindergarten. Bring it.

Walking to school from the car.

The kids line up in the play yard to walk into school with the teachers (no parents allowed). Halina's teacher, Alexa, offered to hold Halina's hand, understanding that Halina might need a little something. After leading Halina to the front of the line, she bent to explain that she had to let go for a moment to address everyone. Then she held Halina's hand again as they went inside.

Heart-bursting. Love this place.

Walking back to the car after her big day.

Halina was so excited after school with lots of stories to tell, which she did over ice cream.

I hope she keeps giving me the scoop (ha ha - sorry) all year so I can picture what she does each day.

Today's the last day of our summer. Tomorrow Halina starts Kindergarten.

I have such deep affection for this past summer, our intertwined time together -- our road trips and outings and projects and play dates, and the way Halina and Luke have become so close and playful, have grown so brave together.

All these days that we made something out of nothing with our time. How creative. And in it all I had these two eager, hilarious, sweet little partners. Is it exaggerated to think of it as the last of something? Will it ever be like this again?

I can't help thinking how this particular summer is the end of pre-school and the beginning of 18 years of school-school. How everything is about to change. How it already has but I just can't see it yet, kinda like a star that's burned out.

We are reading Charlotte's Web again. We read it last year at this time, too. It's the right time. The garden spiders are getting bigger. The state fairs have wrapped up. The air has that fall note in it. Do you remember that book? How it's about loss and growing up and leaving behind and inevitable change? It just about kills me.

The last story of the Winnie the Pooh collection is about that, too. I'd forgotten. Chris read it to Halina for the second time this year also and at the end he couldn't get more than a couple words out a time because he was so choked up.

Halina found that very irritating.

Today the kids and I went to the lake. Halina's school starts up much later than other schools around here and there was almost no one at the park or the lake or the beach. It was almost like a dream I was having. Maybe more so because there have been many days like this one lately: temperate, sun dappled, empty, full of interesting possibilities and no structure, ripe with connection.

Today, Halina rode her bike on the path through the park and along the lake. (She is suddenly cavalier on the bike, seasoned.) We collected leaves. We relocated a garden spider. At the beach we built a sand house and floated boats and Luke wanted all his clothes off. Halina climbed the lifegaurd ladder and kept jumping off and asking me over and over to watch her. She made some slight variations. She surprised herself. She added a twist. She landed again and again. Luke was nursing, lying naked on me in the sun, sifting the warm, dry sand with his bare feet. It was one of those moments when things kind of hurt in their ordinary lushness. The sun was still high. It wouldn't last forever. I tried to take it all in. I focused on physical sensations: the weight of his head on my arm, his soft hair with it's wheaty palette, the feel of the breeze on my skin, the sound of someone across the lake calling a dog, the sound of Halina's feet softly thudding on the sand, Luke's small syllables of gentle questioning and acknowledging, his blue, blue eye watching me as he nursed, my breath.

But it doesn't quite save me. I can't hold on to it no matter how I try.

When I'm mourning, I have regrets. That's what happens with me, so I shouldn't be surprised. I wish I had written more in here, for example. I wish I had been loads more kind and patient.

I trust good things are coming. Amazing things. It helps to think that. And to say this was a good summer and that I am thankful. I want to remember to do that. And it's the truth.