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Wholly alive with all your might.

“Try to learn to breathe deeply, really to taste food when you eat, and when you sleep, really to sleep. Try as much as possible to be wholly alive with all your might, and when you laugh, laugh like hell. And when you get angry, get good and angry. Try to be alive. You will be dead soon enough.”

– Ernest Hemingway

Just an update of sorts.

Photo credit: Jesse Sparks

First and foremost, earlier this week, on a warm and sunny June afternoon, Maxwell Rhys Butler was born. And he is perfect. Congratulations to my favorite no0b parents. Let the fun begin 🙂

Summer school is up and running. Eleven boys, one girl, and me in a too-quiet classroom.

Even though I’m not on a full summer break, there’s something about the season that makes everything just a little bit more exciting and humid and tangible and alive. Carter and I are busy adventuring — swimming, movie-going, library-ing, splash pad-ing, and otherwise gallivanting about town on our hind wheels.

My sophisticated 2.5-year old noshing at the sushi bar. #miniboss
Found a bunny outside the library window. And yes, that’s a plastic cauliflower.
Carter and Cole “Cold” Petrucci.
Once upon a time, there were two little 7-year old best friends. They grew up and had first babies four months apart. Carter and Alexa have no choice but to get married. The end.
Carter and his wingman Van at the railroad park.
Peach pickin’.
Aaaand as soon as the carousel started, he jumped off into my arms.
My little hobo.
Bird perch.
Aunt Mimi’s backyard.
Some light reading.
Cousin time, minus “Seany”.
Arts and crafts. And foreheads.
It’s not cheating. It’s modifying.

I guess the point is that I don’t take enough pictures of my child. I’ll work on that.

In H-Lynne news, things are far less exciting. I’m redoing the downstairs of my house, and it’s almost done, and it looks like an old British lady’s cottage, which is exactly what I was going for. My writer’s circles are increasingly helpful, and even though it’s a slow process, I’m making headway on writing a novel, which feels overwhelming and awesome. Bucket list milestone. Oh, and I daydream about the beach. A lot.

Miley’s got a dance recital coming up, Landry’s starting to talk, Sean can almost crawl, and new baby girl will be here in less than a blink. All of the adults in my family need more sleep.

And if you’ve gotten this far, you’re probably procrastinating on the internet like a true American. So here are some of my recent intrigues:

A reminder on how to feel ok.

For when I feel like complaining: This place has not seen rain in 2 million years.

Tech Noir: So cool. I love cinemagraphs.

Your Mom: A thought-provoking article for parents on body image. 

Selfless Portraits: People around the world drawing each other’s Facebook portfolio pictures.

Destruction I’m fine with: Sculptures made out of/inside books.

Dr. Seuss: From now on, this is how I’m solving life problems.

This is one hundred and ten percent accurate: What really happens on a teen girl’s iPhone.

Coming out on top: These teachers are geniuses.

Hermit Crab Migration: Can’t look away; part of me is dead now.

Erin Stockwell: A best friend’s culinary blog is up and at it again.

What’s wrong? Oh nothing. It’s just my face.

For the dog days of motherhood “when you want your money back”.

An exerpt from a favorite author:

“What they don’t understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you’re eleven, you’re also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don’t. You open your eyes and everything’s just like yesterday, only it’s today. And you don’t feel eleven at all. You feel like you’re still ten. And you are–underneath the year that makes you eleven.

Like some days you might say something stupid, and that’s the part of you that’s still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your mama’s lap because you’re scared, and that’s the part of you that’s five. And maybe one day when you’re all grown up maybe you will need to cry like if you’re three, and that’s okay. That’s what I tell Mama when she’s sad and needs to cry. Maybe she’s feeling three.”

– Sandra Cisneros

I’ve thought the same thing so many times. Except, what about the days like today, when you feel five years older? What then? Yesterday: seventeen. Last week: twenty-one. But today? Thirty-three. At least.

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