Who knew a Swiffer could be so much fun? My boys are running circles around the kitchen/dining/living room loop, chasing each other with the Swiffer, laughing, stomping and hooting, while periodically stopping to marvel, and insist I marvel, at the massive dust-bunnies they’ve accumulated.

Abby is toddling and wobbling around after them, as they continuously lap her, shreiking and giggling at the mayhem. She occasionally falls on her padded little bum, and picks herself immediately to rejoin the fun.

The windows are all thrown open to catch the cool breeze and damp air, remnants of a wild thunderstorm that blew through an hour ago. The edge is off the heat of the day, and the smell of honey, damp grass, sunlight, childhood and summer floats in the open panes.

On the kitchen counter sits a white enamel-ware bowl from the 30′s, filled to the brim with rosy, ripe cherries plucked from the tree in the kids’ great-aunt’s backyard. Just looking at it makes me happy. From lunch, Abby’s cheeks and fingers are stained with cherry-juice.

Happy summertime, indeed.

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