You'd think I would have worked through this summer guilt issue by now, but no such luck. Five days into the whole enterprise, and I'm all up in the guilt. Wallowing in it even. What does that have to do with the weekending, you ask? Well, in between the watching of the dance performance, the partaking in a delicious summer-worthy quinoa with shrimp situation at Janet's, and the collaborative design fun with Sam at her (amazing) new house, Bryan and I worked the summer calendar like Martha Stewart's assistant on speed. We did the who's on first routine for every week of the next three months -- camp schedules, drop offs, hand offs, pick ups. Both in the midst of crazy busy periods at work and faced with the fact that the summer camp juggernaut seems to think that the American work day is 9-4 (umm...summer camp people, it's not), Bryan and I rock/paper/scissored until our hands went numb.
Don't let those joyous photos above fool you friends. While the girlies were frolicking in bubble baths and raiding my closet for dress up frocks, Bryan and I were locked in a heated negotiation. Thankfully we came out relatively unscathed...
Not cool summer. Not cool.