School starts in two weeks. I confess I’m not ready to give up the late nights of playing outdoors, the easy mornings of waking up late, the freedom of summer play and summer messes and summer joys. I’m excited for the start of a new school year with new teachers and new classes and new school supplies. The structure will surely be good for us all and I can’t wait to see what Livia learns this year. But summer has a magic all its own, too, and I think I’m a summer girl at heart.

One thing I love about photography is how it can reveal so much about a specific moment in time. You’ll notice that photographers often resort to what seems like cheesy cliches to describe photography and time, but honestly, there’s great truth to what we’re trying to express!

This image charms me for many reason. I’m finding that age ten, for my child, is truly an in-between age. She’s not a babe any longer but she’s not a teenager yet either. She’s ten. She’s looking to the future and growing up (note the incredible growth from this past year and, yes, the eye makeup in this shot) and yet still a kid at heart (self-imposed bunny ears, anyone?). Look closely and you’ll find something that gives away 2014 as well; Livia’s got a rainbow loom necklace stretched across her forehead as a headband of sorts. If you’ve got an older girl in 2014 then you’ve experienced the insane popularity of the rainbow loom.

Age ten is so much fun. It has Jeremy and I feeling kind of in-between as well. We remember well the baby cheeks and toddler babbles of the past and we look forward to seeing who Livia will become as she grows up. We’re not in a hurry these days, rather we’re loving our girl, in all her bunny-eared glory, at age ten.

This little one, placed in his adoptive parents’ arms as a newborn discharged from the hospital, was adopted today! He turns two in a few days and, my goodness, this is an amazing birthday present. Happy adoption day to our boy Joe! We love you and your family so much and praise God for the joy you’ve brought to all of our lives. [Photos taken Fall 2013.]

There once were two girls who moved to Lincoln, Nebraska. They started junior high and quickly became best friends. They grew up and met wonderful boys and married them and had the most adorable children on the planet. And then in May 2014 one friend took photos of the other friend’s adorable family. The end. Or rather, the beginning. Or really truly, the awesome story continues. Who knows what grand adventures are right around the corner?

I came around the corner and had to laugh out loud at the sight. My recently-made bed had a big bump in it. A throw pillow was knocked into a different position, but it was the crazy bedhead sticking out from the duvet that revealed the culprit. My ten year old, in my cozy bed, happy as a clam.

Later in the morning while bemoaning the way items were thrown all about the house as normal household items often are—dishes on the counter and dining room table, socks left on the living room couch and hair accessories on my office desk—I felt mounting frustration at the way playing pick-up is never truly completed. I recalled being so diligent this morning at getting up and making my bed because, really, I love a well-made bed. Everything else can be in chaos but if my bed is made I feel like I have a shot at finding some measure of control in my day. That is, until Liv climbed right in there and made herself at home. I later returned to the room and found, interestingly enough, an Adobe Photoshop manual open and face down (as though it was halfway read that morning), a magazine rack pulled out, my bedside drawer wide open (and rifled through) and a flashlight twisted into two pieces, sans batteries, right under the covers. Well, at least she had a good time in there. I hope she also enjoyed putting it all back because that’s what I insisted she do a bit later.

I remember loving my parents’ bed. It was so big. And so clean and neat. And nothing felt out of place in their room. And Mom was in there. I loved it. It was pretty much the polar opposite to my own room, which explains why us kids would throw ourselves on that bed at every opportunity. At least once I remember Mom telling us that we’d like our own rooms much more if we’d make the beds, too. Such wisdom, my mom. And I’ll never forget it. Years and years later I’ve made it a habit to figure out what makes a bed look so inviting. Cozy, thick covers. The right amount of pillows. A sheet turned back to welcome you in after a long hard day. A clean, comfortable place to lay down your head that night and rest in peace.

I don’t make up my bed everyday. But when I do I can feel the way it contrasts the dirty dishes in my kitchen sink and the blot of hardened toothpaste in the bathroom sink and the gerbil cage that always invites cleaning in my office. It’s a small stand against evidence of the Fall in my house, a smidgen of redemption in the ever-present work of life with a family in this space we call home.