Rewards.

On Sunday I found myself giving Oliver a treat after he went potty outside. It may have been just because I was feeling generous and motherly but it reminded me of the way my generation has been brought up, constantly being rewarded for mundane tasks and activities that don't merit accolades. Your team lost the entire soccer season? Here's a trophy. You took a poo as a toddler in the big boy chair? Have a nickel. I think as we've grown up, we were constantly awarded for things we shouldn't have been... and now we're the ones looking for the high-rise corner offices with the windows and big salaries, all without having to work for them. Well not me, specifically, and certainly not Oliver, but they're out there. And the easy road they were given growing up the last 21 years is about to bite them in the butt.

Run for the roses.

All week, I was certain our race would be intolerable to run due to the heat and mugginess our state has been in lately. We woke up to cloudy thunderstorms and rain falling! What luck! In my quest to someday run a marathon, or at least a half. We've reached a new mile stone race distance, the 10K, equivalent to 6.2 miles. Up and down the rolling hills of Roseville we ran, greeted with a beautiful red rose at the finish line.

Gazebo.

This gazebo was the home of a very raggedy-white hammock until late last summer. As kids, my sisters and I would pretend we were pirates, princesses, and Indians inside this gazebo. Putting on dances, plays, and mock role-playing other time periods. Now it sits empty, alone, and unimaginative but in the summer the vines grow all over like a beautiful plague and consume it's wooden structure. It looks like it belongs in a European courtyard amongst late evening diners at a hole-in-the-wall cafe.

Under armour.

The thought of running outside when the humidity and temperature just keep rising is ludicrous. But there has to be some sort of real road running in prep for a real road race, on Saturday. So yesterday I bought this lovely number. A hot pink Under Armour HeatGear top. And if your lucky, like me, you can snag one that includes its very own water-bottle holding midget to quench your thirst at every mile marker.

Summer heart.

We were enjoying a summer serenade concert by an acapella group. Guess who pointed this cloud out on Wednesday evening? He's got the key to mine.

A couple years ago, I saw a cloud that was so in detail I thought I must be hallucinating. It was a stretch limo with not three but four specific people riding it. Each in a different generation of clothing. Britney Spears (of course, she always has to be a part of everything, lame), Ghandi, Angelina Jolie, and my old English teacher from 5th grade. It was a pretty interesting summer afternoon to say the least.

Blocks o' fun.

We've inherited more than our fair share of photography props and equipment over the years. Amongst the little baby clothes and wooden rockers, I found this fabulous box of alphabet blocks... remember these!? They're more fun now than they were as a kid... must be the vocabulary...

Heat index.

It's been awhile since I've felt my body starting to melt upon exiting my air conditioned home. I suppose this is how a popsicle feels. Poor yummy dudes.

Trailer trash.

I'm not above being trailer trash. And that's exactly what we were the majority of Saturday and Sunday. We mixed up more than our fair share of vodka tonics, rode around the trailer park on the bike's pegs, played frisbee in the center of the trailer homes, and grilled. Oh, did I mention we watched some of the most random TV shows on an antique TV set? And practically got eaten alive by mosquitos? The feel of shag carpet between my toes is unmatched and the thought that there is no way anyone would ever guess to find me in this location was a tad exciting. As the sun set over the other trailer homes in The Timbers we got creative with our "activities", and enjoyed a slower pace of life.

Lake Geneva.

After a much appreciated and luxurious night's stay in one of the nicer hotel rooms I've ever been privy to experience (think four poster bed that was literally 4.5' off the ground, fireplace, granite, tile floor, jacuzzi tub made for two, etc.) we trekked up to Lake Geneva, WI for a more slow-paced living adventure. Which brings me to the Timbers Trailer Park. More about that later. We unloaded and jumped right back in the truck to launch the boat in the lake. It's been so long since I've been on the water that I wasn't exactly sure what it felt like.... we floated around and oogled at the many multi-million dollar shacks on the shore. Add some Miller Chill Lime, a cowboy hat, a handsome boyfriend, this was pretty much the highlight of my weekend.

Wedding bliss.

Friday was spent preparing for Josh & Jenny's wedding extravaganza! Their ceremony was held in the most enchanted-looking courtyard of the Herrington Inn & Spa on the edge of the Fox River. It literally looked like it was plucked right out of the secret garden. There were storms throughout the day and a little thunder during the exchanging of the vows, but the rain held off until they walked down the aisle to a future of marital bliss. The reception was beautiful, especially the centerpieces. We danced and drank and toasted bubbly champagne to two of the greatest people I've been fortunate enough to meet.

Randall Rd.

This is the exit off of 94 that takes you into Elgin, which drives you through Elgin, past St. Charles, into Geneva, and spits you out in Batavia, Michael's hometown. Our road trip here takes place this weekend for Josh & Jenny's wedding celebration and I've been looking forward to it for awhile. They are one of our favorite couples, and this is one of my favorite interstate exits. Coincidentally this is our third road trip to Chicago, and our third wedding together. Lucky much?

Proof.

You cannot tell me there isn't a God out there somewhere when you spend the most beautiful summer evening wrestling in the grass with ten flawless puppies.

Counterproductive.

My bank most likely is not the only bank with large metal poles dividing the drive-thru lanes. Each year they look more banged up than before and if people would just slow the heck down they wouldn't be applying the cash they just withdrew towards a new paint job on their candy red Mustang convertible. The senselessness of some Minnesotan residents astonishes me.

Imagination.

The greatest part about being a kid is the imagination aspect. My sisters and I would take a stack of cardboard boxes and build towns in the basement complete with post office and laundromat. We spent hours and hours building, breaking down, and reconstructing our cardboard communities until late into the evenings. I remember this like it was yesterday and when the neighbor kids came over to steal our new wicker-furniture boxes, I smiled thinking how great it is to make something pretty amazing out of something as simple as a cardboard box.

World, meet William.

I am lucky to have a family of four children living next door. Ever since they adopted William from Ukraine, I've done a complete 180 in my interest with children. And now, I want four as well. He has curly blonde hair and eyes the color of the most bluest ocean on earth. He's still working on his English and every now and again it's mostly garble and a lot of Ukrainian words that we aren't familiar with. This afternoon, he came over for a quick neighborly "chat" and proceeded to mumble and pantomime the fact that there is no sun outside and what seemed to be the idea that his shirt is better than mine. But I couldn't be positive on that one. He giggled, his bright blue eyes sparkled, and then ran back to his yard to throw a ball around. It was one of those moments people point to when asked why they want children.

**this is the new photo.

Kayaking the reserve.

Recently the county opened up an off-limits reserve to those of us interested in kayaking, canoeing, or just hiking around an area that we haven't been able to as of the last decade or so. Michael and I decided to take advantage of our beautiful Sunday afternoon and trailered the kayaks to the opening spot. Four hours later we made it to Long Lake. Despite the beautiful weather, it was a little disheartening to have to get out of your kayak and literally drag it because the water was so low. That, and the unbelievable amounts of disgusting, smelly dead carp floating amongst the trashed lawn mowers on the side of the reserve river. How they got there, I have no idea, but this kayaking expedition is going to be way more successful when we take it to the Boundary Waters.

Family portrait.

One of the best, and worst, parts of being a photographer's daughter is the family pictures, everywhere. Sometimes it gets old staring yourself in the eyes from the living room to the family room. But, really, all we'll have left of memories and experiences are photographs, so I now tend to embrace family portraits, especially this one. Lance has a mullet, Cecile is a supermodel, Heather is low-key and Sarah looks innocent. We are three complete different sisters and there have been more than a few instances we've been told our family would be perfect for a reality show. All in all, I cannot complain about the hand I've been dealt. It just keeps getting better and more interesting with time.

One of those girls.

Sometimes I try to be put together. The shoes match the outfit, which match the bag and the jewelry. And other times I don't give a hoot about the combinations I throw together. Yes, I've been known to wear brown and black at the same time.... and I may even have thought it looked good. As we all know, there's more to life than perfect outfits and matching colors.... thus the reason I drive my silver convertible with my brown rugged cowgirl boots, hair flying everywhere, cause life's too short, my friends, too short to care about small potatoes like these.

Seasonal behavior.

It's still a little too early in the season to run himself to death, but that's not going to stop Oliver from trying. In fact, he lingers near the back door all day long now that the weather has warmed up a bit in hopes that we'll let him out, so that he can chase after his beloved orange frisbee exactly like this. I don't mind at all because it gives him something other than the UPS man to obsess about.

*check out those wicked fangs!

Fluffy world.

Wherever these fluffs flying through the air came from, I want to live there. Doesn't it make you think there's another world out there, filled with clouds? We could sleep on them, jump on them, swim through them. Maybe these little guys flying through our sky really belong somewhere else and they detached themselves for a small vacation. That, or there is a giant stuffed bear somewhere leaking all its guts into the universe.

These legs.

For so long I've been cautious of exercise and running a certain amount to stay in shape. But at some point, my legs won't look like this and I absolutely dread that day. Muscle is muscle until it fades with age and a sedentary lifestyle. Although I don't plan on sitting around much during this lifetime, there are no guarantees to how our bodies will age, whether gracefully or not. While I can ensure that I am physically and emotionally as healthy as I can be, a lot of this is left up to the mercy of nature. And I have experienced an almost overwhelming sense of freedom and calm in letting myself go to that notion.

Destruction.

Was it the family of deer? The overpopulated gang of rabbits under the shed? Whichever furry clan it was, you have been weighed, you have been measured, and you have been found wanted. I realize you are under the impression that my entire yard is your personal salad bar. You are mistaken.

Shuttlecocks.

You know how liquor makes every situation a little more likely to slide toward sexual mischief and sexual innuendos? Well I think the same is true for shuttlecocks. Try asking, with a straight face, for direction from a salesperson on which aisle their shuttlecocks are located. That's right. It's awkward and funny. I cannot do it for the life of me. Unless if they know the game of badminton, they will most likely point you in the direction of Sex World downtown Minneapolis. Whoever invented the term for this piece of sports equipment is a freaking genius.

Frozen tundra.

The freezer went on hiatus and decided to stop making ice cubes. Instead the water dripped down the various levels of the freezer and created what look like frosty icicles on every shelf. The frozen salmon fillets were welded to the ice pops which were attached to the chipotle bean burgers. It's times like these that make me glad I'm not living alone, forced to deal with this solo. But someone had to detach every frozen food product from our freezer. So I took a chisel made out of alloyed steel to the clumps of frozen mess and the energy with which I tackled the task made me think of a quote I read recently:

"But the worst enemy you can encounter will always be you, yourself, you lie in wait for yourself in caves and woods."

For some reason, the action of chiseling was so caveman-like and barbaric that it made me think I was literally fighting to find food in the frozen tundra. That quote isn't directly related to the event I'm referring to, but the whole "lying in wait for yourself in caves and woods" did come to mind during my primitive episode.

Bob Marley mangos.

The Rastafarian colors of this exotic fruit isn't the only reason I buy them. Leaving them on the counter for a few days to make sure they're ripe as can be guarantees that they are absolutely-hands-down-the-most-flavorful-fruit-I-have-ever-had. It's a meal in a mango. They're big, and filling, and I don't think there is a comparable food as delicious as this one. After savoring one of these babies, everything else tastes like cardboard. Although, they are somewhat hard to consume when the ripeness makes the fruit squishy. The juice drips down the sides of my mouth, all over my shirt, and I'm positive I look like a ravenous Aborigini on the island of Tripoli.

You say hat, I say fedora.

While browsing the aisles at Target this morning, a particular item caught my eye. This brown fedora. Where the name fedora comes, I know not. But one thing I did know is that this is the perfect new summer hat for my wardrobe. After watching Jason Mraz in multiple music videos with one of these lovelies on, I had to have my own.

Here is why: I have the things I love and that feed my soul. I make sure that if I'm having a chocolate chip cookie, I have the best chocolate chip cookie I can find. The people who are the most beautiful are those who do what they love to do - who have love in their lives, and laugh a lot, go to good movies, read good books, have great sex, and wear fabulous hats. As of 11:45 this morning, I am one of those girls.

Expensive ice cream.

As you know, or maybe you don't. My one food weakness is ice cream. It is glorious and every chance encounter at Nelson's Ice Cream in Stillwater is like heaven, as they have the best chocolate peanut butter ice cream on this planet. I kid you not. I have to settle for something less as impressive by trying different brands and flavors around here. This brings me to Ciao Bella Geltao. I've always been under the impression that gelato is just an expensive form of ice cream, and I'm still standing my ground on that opinion. Although, I did close my eyes for a moment yesterday, mid-Ciao-Bella-bite and caught myself daydreaming that I was watching the sunset not in Shoreview, Minnesota but across the world on the shore of the Seine River in Paris, France. I suppose you could call gelato an indulgence. An expensive, but delicious indulgence.

Hostas with the mostess.

I'm all for landscaping and fixing up this property that I call home. But when it comes to transplanting tons, and I mean TONS of hostas throughout the course of my Tuesday afternoon... there's only so much tree-hugging I can stand. Let's just say my back hurts as if I had to carry around a 300-lb midget all afternoon. It's worth it because the air quality around our home most likely improved by 7,584 points. I've taken pride in making our lot look the best it can; so much so that when I saw a younger fellow walking the sidewalk along 96 in the late afternoon smoking a disgusting cigarette, it took just about all of my willpower to not whip out my slingshot and pelt him with some pebbles, screaming "Put that shit out, can't you see the progress we've made today!?"

Salads, in all varieties.

The greatest part about salads is that there is an endless combination of them. Feeling MexiCAN? Throw some romaine lettuce, black beans, corn, avocado, tomato, and cheese in a bowl. Today, the mood was more "hell-yeah-summers-gradually-making-its-way-to-Minnesota", thus the blueberries, pineapple, and strawberry explosion.

For a girl who has never been very good at doing anything part way, creating a salad concoction is one thing I'm stellar at. Being a full-time, on-time, type of a cook would be a special challenge. I have a tendency to dive into meals all the way, barely coming up for air and halfway through the creation of a certain dish, I realize I'm spending way too much time measuring and perfecting, and need to just trust my gut and throw some random spices in there.

The problem is, when you have a cardamom flavored chicken breast that you thought was marinated in your new favorite concoction, not only is dinner ruined, but money is wasted, and your grill reeks of aromatic seeds from India. Thank the heavens for Subway, eh?