Ice cream

Ice cream. Those two words are probably the simplest description of summer I can think of.

I remember summers as a kid, sitting on my grandparents' front porch eagerly watching cream and sugar and fresh cut peaches swirling around in the ice cream maker for what seemed like an eternity. Later, licking the melting pools of homemade peach ice cream from the white and gold embellished corelle bowls that I remember Granny saying were wedding gifts when they got married. I can still remember the aroma of the peaches and cream and how sweet it tasted on those hot summer days.

When we started planning our move to Georgia, almost a year and a half ago, I immediately dreamt of June and the start of peach season. Real Georgia peaches. Ripening on my counter top, dripping juice as I slice into them. Now that we're here, dream-come-true, my counters never go without a bag of peaches on them. And this week, I bought an ice cream maker.

See where this is going?
It was like sitting on that front porch, brain-freezing, clanking spoon against bowl all over again.

I'm in love with this Georgia-million-degrees-summer. Browning in the sun, pruning in the pool and lake, making friends, reading new stories, picking berries, seeing loved ones, growing imaginations, being courageous, singing loudly, laughing louder, marvelling at the sky. It has been a full one so far for me and my boys. Summer always goes too fast and while we have another few months to enjoy, I can't help but to look ahead two years and realize that it'll only be weeks left then, before my baby boy starts school and cuts our summers short. So while I'm pulling my hair out when my son starts exercising his newfound independence and bravery in the form of defiance, I have to catch myself. I have to remember: this won't last. But neither will the fun parts.