Labor Day was humid and sunny and it sweat perfection from every pore. My family and I woke up with heat emanating from our skin and the open, expansive awesomeness of having nothing absolutely pressing to do spread out before us. We spent the morning playing in bed with Covyn, then wandered downstairs for breakfast and spent the early hours of the day with the doors flung wide open so our Joey girl could roam free. The flies took invitation and welcomed themselves inside, brought in on the breeze from the horse farm up the hill. We bothered not to shoo them.
After a bath in the sink, we pulled Cove through the yard in his wagon, and stopped to grab a snack from his daddy’s veggie patch. The kid loves vegetables, cucumbers and tomatoes especially – anything that creates a cool juice that trickles down his arm and falls to his lap from the crook of his elbow. He is only eight months old and already he’s salt of the earth.
As the day wore on and the sun rose higher in the sky, Martyn and Cove and I sought relief in the kiddie pool Gramma gifted Cove, and we pined momemtarily for an in-ground pool until our wits returned to remind us how infrequently it would be used.
In the evening, Auntie Jenny and Rob dropped in on their way through town. We had burgers on the grill, homegrown corn, and salad galore, and then we laid Covyn down to rest with his teddy bear, Chatham, to dream of the summer days of his future, dirt between his toes, sweat on the small of his back, and a grand adventure in his heart.
No labor day should be spent without the utter absence of work, and we spent it well: being wildly in love, and enjoying the living heck out of our bare-skinned, backyard boy.