Christmas ... even in July

"Christmas isn't a season. It's a feeling." - Edna Ferber

Yesterday, we celebrated Christmas in July by hosting a little cookout at our house.

Before you start with the whole, it's-too-soon blah blah blah negativity, please understand:
1. I don't care
2. I agree

I don't care if you don't like my party theme. It's okay to stop reading this post right now. We can still be friends.

I agree Christmas is over commercialized and retailers try to get in our pockets way too early and Thanksgiving gets completely overlooked. I've talked about this before.

I've also shared that my family and I have a longstanding tradition of celebrating Christmas in July. This year, we decided to open the doors and invite friends to share in the celebrations with us.

It was definitely July. A cranky thunderstorm Saturday had strewn leaves about, tossed our patio chairs and left the yard soaked. It rained and rumbled Sunday morning too, making it a sweaty-wool-blanket kind of horrible humidity. And when the summer sun shone in the afternoon just before guests arrived, temps crept up toward 90 and a wind kicked up.

Stupid thunderstorm tried to kill my tomato plants. Stupid storm.

Not a cooling wind. It was the kind of wind that pushes the thick air directly into your lungs in order to better scorch them.

It was perfect cookout weather ... if you like to barbecue in a freaking oven.

That was the July part of Christmas in July. Despite the heat - which eventually gave way to cool temps by nightfall - there were also some of the better aspects of July: the long summer evening, teens playing capture the flag and lawn Twister, eating hot dogs off paper plates while sitting on a blanket in the grass.

The Christmas part included twinkle lights adorning the deck rails and festive holiday music playing. Inside, we had a small white tree in the kitchen sporting small stockings filled with school supplies and candy (school starts here Thursday) and glittery star ornaments for the kids to take home.

Sweet treats normally savored in December.

A little tree in the living room and a few homemade hostess gifts to send home with guests.

I'll tell you how to make these fun, easy vinyl letter canvases in another post. Promise.

In the spirit of giving, guests brought dog and cat treats to be donated to the local animal shelter.

It wasn't the biggest party we've ever had. Nor was it the most elaborate endeavor. But it was fun and festive and good to share with friends.

Christmas in July has never ruined "real" Christmas for us. This little sneak of festivity in no way detracts from the big one in December.

It was the easy, obligation-free version of Christmas: simple gratitude for the good people in our lives; the blissful tickle of tastes, sounds and aromas that trigger happy sense memories; sharing and caring for no other reason than the simple desire to do so; a reminder that God's love shines all year and in every season.

That's why we celebrate a little bit of Christmas in July.

"Christmas, my child, is love in action. Every time we love, every time we give, it's Christmas." - Dale Evans

Date day

Our son left last week to spend 10 days in Florida on vacation with another family.

So that means his longest - and probably best ever - family vacation will be spent with another family.

<sigh>

That also means that his little family back here in Indiana has gone from three to just a pair. Granted, this is how the whole thing got started - mommy and daddy love each other very much and got married and then there was a baby - but it hasn't been just mommy and daddy alone in the house for an extended period of time for more than 15 years.

I'm not a huge fan of this arrangement, but it is my future: we aren't raising our child in order to keep him with us forever; we expect he will leave us at some point. College lurks in the visible future. Then it will be just my husband and me again.

But we're not there yet.

In light of the kid's absence, my husband suggested we get away for the weekend. Really, just an over-nighter somewhere. Just the two of us. He works every other weekend, and even though he was scheduled to work this past weekend, he offered to take the time off so we could be together.

My response? "Eh ... nah."

Please understand: I like my husband. A lot. He's the best. And I like to spend time with him. After 26 years together as a couple, we still dig each other very much. It's just that I got real practical about it all and said, "Save the time off for another occasion. School fees are coming up, so let's save the money. We can just do something another time."

We're parents. We don't "get" - get time to ourselves, get to do what we want, get to have non-family fun. We give - give our time, give our attention, give our resources.

As he so often does, my husband ignored me ... and took the time off anyway.

When  my boss asked me how I was doing with my son away, I mentioned my husband's gesture with a pinch of disdain for his stubbornness.

"Lorri, if a man wants to plan a romantic get-away, go," she said. "You will never remember the weekend you just stayed home, but you will always remember the weekend you got away."

Okay, that got me.

In the spirit of compromise and cost saving, we agreed to get away, but just for the day and come back home that evening.

I'm so very glad we did.

We spent the day in Bardstown, Ky., just about an hour or so from our home. It is a lovely small town, named The Most Beautiful Small Town in America in 2012, and has been recognized as having one of the most beautiful town squares. Here's more about Bardstown, including its rich history.

We dined at a cool old tavern, the Old Talbot Tavern, admiring the stonework, rough floors and beams as much as the fried catfish and sweet potato fries.

We giggled and flirted.

We held hands as we walked along the old downtown pavers.

We shopped. He indulged me in purchases without the usual mentions of budget, space, or need.

I bought gloves. In July.

We took our time. Not once did we worry about being somewhere else.

We lingered under the cooling shade of a garden arbor at a park on a hot day.

He kissed my hand. I leaned into his arm.

We spent the rest of our evening at home, cuddled up on the couch with a pizza and cold beer. We watched chick-flicks and stayed up late.

Gosh, it was such a nice date.

My boss was right: I will remember the get-away. I will remember feeling special and pretty and loved. I will remember that it's okay to indulge in something just for us as a couple. Yes, parenting involves a lot of sacrifice, but that doesn't mean we should sacrifice the fundamental relationship that made us parents in the first place.

I needed to let go: not just of my growing child, but also of my habit of selflessness.

Because every now and again, a girl just needs a date day away with her best fella.

Summer staycation

"A vacation is having nothing to do and all day to do it." - Robert Orben

That's the kind of vacation we took this summer: a whole lotta nothing.

I took more than a week off of work and my husband took several days off.  My son wrapped up an online course and driver's ed. All of which meant we had time; time to be together as a family.

We had vacation time.

We never once packed a suitcase, made a reservation or punched an address into GPS. We stayed home. Except we were always doing something ... and kind of never really doing anything.

Gosh, it was the best kind of break.

It started off bumpy with the AC going out my very first evening off. Not to worry. After one open-window night of sleep, we were back in business with a charge of coolant and the replacement of some compressor thing (I think?) ... all I know is, it cost waaay less than a new unit and so my biggest fear was allayed.

I stocked the kitchen and took the time because I had the time to cook at home - real meals and the good stuff, like turkey, pork roast, tacos, and lots of salads and desserts.

S'mores truffles? Yep. And yum, by the way.

Get the recipe here.

I (meaning, my husband) tackled a paint project, giving new life to the tired 1990s honey pine end tables that are the right size for what we need, but were gashed by cat claws and generally beat-down-worn because we cannot have nice things. We just can't. That's who we are: people who can't have nice things. So we (meaning, I) bought expensive paint and we (meaning, my husband) revamped what we have.

Left has two coats of paint, wax and distressing (I at least did the distressing myself); the right one is the finished piece, using dark wax.

My son would be going on a beach vacation with another family this week, and so we didn't have the totally made-up pressure on us to "make memories" for him. Instead, he spent time with friends, swimming, going to an indoor trampoline park, gaming and hosting them at our house. He had band practice and generally hung out and relaxed, sleeping in and eating a lot. Except for the times we did stuff as a family.

And we did quite a bit of that.

We walked the new pedestrian bridge that connects the neighboring community of Jeffersonville, Ind. across the Ohio River to downtown Louisville, Ky.

View of downtown Louisville from the pedestrian bridge.

View of the pedestrian bridge from downtown Louisville.

The bridge was an old railroad bridge that had been out of operation for quite some time. We enjoyed a beautiful afternoon stroll and hit a downtown Jeffersonville eatery that was delish and then visited some favorite shops as well.

We even got bored. 

Not the awful, depressing kind of bored that makes you question the meaning of your life. No, this was the good kind of bored: the kind that makes you look around and ask, "Well ... what now?" And then figure that out - whether it's planting pumpkin seeds in the garden, watching a movie, binging on NetFlix, napping or reading.

Our Independence Day celebration was decidedly low-key. Our son had plans with friends and so it was just my best guy and me. We had dinner out and then hung out at home.

The temps had turned off cool late in the week, like a little gift just for me on my vacation. We pulled on hoodies and watched neighborhood fireworks beside a glowing fire on our patio.

Gosh, it was romantic.

And a little redneck.

Seriously, how much do these families spend on fireworks?

Anyway ...

We did venture out of the area to Indianapolis to visit friends, and the next day to Evansville to visit family.

The Ruins at Holiday Park, Indianapolis. Do you recognize them from the movie The Fault in Our Stars? I don't because I haven't seen the movie. I have it on good authority (teen girls).

 And on Monday, I was back in the office.

My return to work wasn't filled with the kind of dread one might associate with getting back into the old routine after a break. I had a great time off. I was rested. Happy. Content. My heart was glad for the time with friends and family. I was appreciative of all we did so close to home and appreciative of all we didn't do (pay for a hotel, argue in the car, eat out every meal).

All that appreciation kind of rubs off and makes you appreciate other things, like having meaningful work to do and a place to do it.

The best souvenirs I brought back from my summer vacation were peace and perspective.

Summer weekend mornings

Most mornings are a scramble. Slapped awake by the alarm clock. Blinded by the jarring shock of lamplight. Stumble to the bathroom. Fumble for contact lenses. Toothpaste. Gah, the water is never really warm enough when I step in the shower. And from there it's go, go, go - hair dryer, eyeliner, earrings, wrangle a kid to school, barely kiss a husband on the way out the door.

Breakfast? No time. Coffee? Ha. Lunch? Forgot to bring it - again. Hurry, hurry, no matter how early I get up.

Then sit in traffic.

Weekend mornings are supposed to be a reprieve from the workday chaos: sleeping late, lounging in PJs and watching TV. I do this when I can, but then I often find myself playing catch-up. The movie matinee starts soon and I haven't showered yet. The doorbell just rang and I'm still in PJs. A friend wants to grab lunch and do a little shopping, but my hair is a bird's nest. We need to leave for church and I haven't even finished my coffee.

And so it's the familiar morning scramble imposing on my weekend.

Saturday morning, I took a different approach. I slept until I woke on my own - no alarm - but instead of acknowledging the morning, comforting myself with "It's the weekend," and then rolling over to sleep another hour or so, I got up. It was early - depending on your definition of early - 7 a.m. or so, and I opted to take a quiet stroll around my yard and gardens, coffee in hand.

It was an overcast morning, which kept the summer temperature tolerable. I listened to birds chirp, cackle and chase. I hung out with my dog - the only other resident of my house who was awake - and just took it all in.

There was only one hiccup.

Hello, my name is Jax, and I immediately regret my decision to poop on the patio. I have ample green space for this purpose and it is unacceptable for me to misuse this space as such. I also regret having made this egregious error within the direct vicinity of my mommy while she was having her morning coffee on said patio. And while my given name is technically not "Dammit Jax" I now realize it is in my best interest to respond to it when called and not tuck my tail and try to hide from Mommy. I have learned my lesson and will do better in the future. - Sincerely, Jax.

I met the rest of my day at my own pace.

I enjoyed the start to my Saturday morning so much, I decided to continue the vibe this morning. Up shortly after 7 again, I sipped my coffee while curled up on the couch and then threw some comfy clothes on and headed up the road about a mile to the local high school, the school my son attends.

I walk here all the time, but this Sunday morning, without the hubbub of practices, tournaments, classes and other school-related activities going on (yes, even in summer), it was remarkably peaceful, almost park-like. In fact, there is a lovely garden in the back of the school that I usually whizz past while exercising, but decided to stop and explore a little more closely today.

I had a nice workout and was home in time to have breakfast and pull myself together for church. No rush, no fuss.

Not every weekend will lend itself to this sort of schedule. There will be many times when I need to sleep later out of necessity or get up much earlier to conquer a busy day before daylight.

But stepping out of the house when I don't actually need to, just for the mere enjoyment of it helped me see the day at its start - and the world around me - in a different, less hurried way.

"An early morning walk is a blessing for the whole day" - Henry David Thoreau

Summer shake up

"Mom, this thing is ancient."

Ancient? Um, no, son, it's not "ancient." It was actually a wedding gift ... in 1993.

That makes it old enough to buy me a beer. 

If it were a person ... who had beer money.

Anyway, my son excavated the relic out of the top kitchen cabinet for me after I mentioned in passing that I can just make milkshakes at home when he craves a cool summer treat (as opposed to the snow cone maker he was insisting we purchase).

"How long have you known how to make milkshakes, Mom?"

"Um, since forever."

He was shocked and disappointed. I dunno. Milkshakes are relatively cheap (clean and easy) to pick up in the drive-thru nowadays, so I just kind of never really thought to make them at home.

So I picked up the necessities (frozen yogurt, chocolate syrup and skim milk - no need to make this fattening) and put the prehistoric blender back in business.

Bend-y straw = required

Yum. The perfect summer indulgence.

Jax likes a scoop of vanilla fro-yo. More please.

The calendar tells us Saturday is the official beginning of summer, but it's been in full swing here for a couple of weeks now.

Except, not really.

School's been out two weeks (thanks, snow days, for the late ending to the school year), but my son has been taking a driver's ed class daily (he has his learner's permit!) at school, and an online health class to make room in his schedule for something more interesting during the school year. That means he's been getting up early, spending part of the day at school and doing homework at night.

Homework. In June.

The thing is, the new school year starts next month.

School. In July.

In between, he has to get in a stay-cation with his dad and me, a trip to the beach with friends, golf, swimming, late-night video game parties, sleeping in, matinee movies, drive-in movies, reading the stack of books he has set aside, band practice, band camp, more band practice, and just hanging out with friends.

Somehow I think he'll manage to get it all in. Kids are motivated like that.

I work year round and so my leisurely summer days are very limited. Still, much like my son, I'll try to get in as much enjoyment as I can. My kind of fun revolves around gardening, daydreaming about autumn and avoiding bugs, the sun and excessive sweat.

I'm not a summer girl.

But I do like the long days that begin before I wake and stretch streaky pink-purple and glowing orange well into the evening hours when I would otherwise be sporting PJs.

And flowers in bloom.

And sitting on my patio.

And fresh tomatoes. And sweet corn. And a burger from the grill. And red, white and blue bunting draped across porches. And fireflies twinkling in the field across from our house.

And date nights with my husband, holding hands, walking downtown in the evening after dinner.

And homemade chocolate shakes.

Hmmm ... Maybe I am more of a summer girl than I realized.