I used to occasionally write about stuff.

Me and my kiddos at the circus this afternoon.

The weather has been perfect, our schedule has been full and we’ve been celebrating summertime.  And some nights I really want to blog.  You know, to remember.  But I decide to watch five episodes of Scrubs instead.  And I promise myself that I will blog tomorrow night.  And then its tomorrow night and no matter how hard I try I can’t get my mind to form complete sentences, so I skip blogging and Spence and I watch Scrubs then we go to bed.  But not before I promise myself that tomorrow night, tomorrow night I’ll blog.  And then it’s tomorrow night, and just to appease my addiction {it’s real, you guys} I publish 100 pictures and consider myself caught up on my journaling, then I watch Scrubs, then I go to bed. 

Start this post over and read it again.  And then again.  And then again.

And then, somehow, June is almost over and as I scroll down through my last posts I realize that I’ve written nothing down that I wanted to.  No stories about how I managed to destroyed a perfectly good learning experience with my children by confusing a camel with a donkey.  No post about how we accidently left Baby Luke all alone in the middle of Cougareat (on BYU campus) because we were suddenly distracted by the smell of ice-cream.  No post about the bagel that made my mom and Jami laugh out loud and caused me to spray milk out my nose.  Instead all of my last blog posts have turned into collages of a million billion pictures.

Not that it’s a bad thing.  Honestly, pictures are worth 1,000 words – so I’ve all but written a book.

Anyway, today’s post: a million, billion more pictures of what we’ve been up to.  Because apparently, that's how I blog.  Then I’m going to watch Scrubs.  Then go to bed.