There’s nothing like a post-dinner popsicle and a buddy to share it with.

Plucked from a pot of herbs, Scrubby became a household pet for a brief time. With the help of Google, we learned Scrubby was a Papilio polyxene who liked to eat parsley, among other things.

For four days, Livia carried Scrubby’s jar to her room during quiet time. She would sit in her room for an hour, quietly letting the caterpillar climb all over her hands and arms. I was pretty sure that such frequent handling of the insect would prevent him from turning into a butterfly, but I was wrong.

Scrubby began to do what he was made to do. He had a really odd poop, climbed onto a twig, strapped himself in with one strand of silky thread, then stayed still for about 24 hours straight. I went away to a mini-retreat at church and came home to a green chrysalis. Livia said Jeremy kept looking at the jar and only seeing leaves and that she was the one to point out Scrubby’s chrysalis.

For 11 days, we kept vigil by the side of the jar. Towards the end of the time, Scrubby’s chrysalis turned grey, then one night it was almost black—apparently the chrysalis becomes transparent before the butterfly emerges.

We awoke on a Tuesday morning and Scrubby was no longer his green striped chubby caterpillar self; he was a glorious Black Swallowtail butterfly. Livia wasn’t home at the time, so I took the jar, with its transformed inhabitant, and picked her up from my mom’s house. Liv’s jaw almost hit the floor when she saw Scrubby—it was awesome. She chose to release her winged friend and he was last seen testing out his new wings over the lake in my mom’s backyard.

I was surprised by how fascinated I was at Scrubby’s transformation. I knew Livia would love it, but really, I loved the whole experience too. I’m amazed at how God created such an interesting life cycle for this fat little caterpillar. The Master Artist clearly spared no detail in his creation.

**Photo disclaimer: These tomatoes are in my dad’s garden, not mine!

It’s getting to that time of year where I have to force myself to work in the garden. It’s mid-July, which, in Nebraska means it’s pretty hot and ridiculously humid outdoors. The mosquitoes find me irresistible while the weeds find my garden patch irresistible. Plus, the vegetable garden, by this point in the season, is doing well and doesn’t seem to need as much TLC anymore. It’s easy to throw up my hands and surrender to the elements by staying indoors with the AC cranked up. However, I need to resist that desire because my garden is growing like crazy and someone, moi, needs to keep up with it.

This year I planted kale, mixed lettuces, white onions, bush beans, cherry tomatoes, slicing tomatoes, zinnias and sunflowers. Oh yeah, and broccoli. Tender, sweet little shoots of broccoli, which made a delightful meal for some foul beast back in May. And yet, in an odd turn of events, a broccoli plant sprouted up among the beans and when I peeked at my garden tonight, there was a green head on the plant. Awesome.

We’re enjoying Year Two of our neighborhood garden. Again we were allowed a portion of the old Zion Church lot (now it belongs to our church, Redeemer) and again our awesome neighbors measured out plots, tilled the ground, and fenced off a bit of earth. It felt like a good old-fashioned moment of Americana when we gathered together for a BBQ outside the garden in June. Everyone was introduced, or re-introduced, food was shared, the young garden admired.

So tomorrow, I absolutely have to get into my little space and pull some weeds. Perhaps it’ll rain tonight and my task will become a bit simpler. The kale is growing like mad and I’ve promised bags of it to my mom and a friend. I am sure the beans are ready for picking and an empty vase awaits the zinnias. And maybe, if I’m lucky, a tomato will be ripe.

My heart has just started to thaw from the harsh and frozen memories of last winter. I’ll take the heat, the humidity, and even the darn mosquito bites if it means I get to enjoy summer for a little bit longer.

“Every artist was at first an amateur.” – Ralph W. Emerson

I wanted to poke my eyes out while reading Emerson in high school. Yes, it was that painful an experience. But I felt like kissing Mr. Emerson when reading a few quotes this morning. As I prepare for my first ever gallery showing (!) I feel like amateur hour times a thousand.

There are always more dishes to wash. And don’t get me started on the never-ending laundry piles. There’s always another blog post to read, another email to reply to, another task to check of my list of things-to-do. There’s always another chapter in the good book I finally got into, and there’s always something that catches my eye on Netflix.

But for Pete’s sake, it’s summer. And sometimes you’ve got to get out of the house.

A few days ago Livia and I wandered through our local rose garden and we both snapped pictures of what interested us. Liv took off her shoes and dipped her toes in the gorgeous and cool fountain. She left watery footprints on the hot sidewalk and meandered with me through the rose bushes.

I can get completely caught up in the mundane activities of my life and need these Rose Garden moments to give me breath and joy again. Thank God for a six-year-old who holds my hand and explores with me.

“Have fun at work!” Liv called out to Jeremy as he climbed the stairs to his office.

Then she turns to me with a smile… “Cuz work is boring. Alls he do is just sit there, typing,” she said with a grin in her voice.

I couldn’t help but laugh. Web programming, though exciting to Jeremy, doesn’t look so great to a six-year-old.

Sometimes it’s fun just to sit in an empty pool with your good bud.

And sometimes it’s fun to sit in that empty pool and pretend your good bud’s baby brother is a monster. Because then you get to scream.

And scream.

And scream some more.

When the photos I post are vertical, I can’t decide what size they should be! I go back and forth between liking a really large vertical shot, and liking one I can see completely on the screen of my 13″ laptop. Input or preference, anyone?