This May, we sleep with the windows open. The crickets quietly serenade us with lullabies at night; the birds and the springtime sun wake us early with morning songs and dappled, leafy light. Sometimes we hear cat fights in the night. This May, I wait for life's pace to slow to a summer-lull, but my world spins faster. This May, we flurry and scurry to prepare for our first big house project. Standing on the precipice of renovations is an exciting and dreadful place. This May, we travel and come home, and travel and come home again. Suitcases and sand and extended family hugs and laundry. This May, the magnolia in the front yard is in bloom. I make the boys sniff its lemony fragrance. New-green leaves grow on the branches and the old ones drop to the ground. We pick them up and make a big pile by the street. This May, we flip on the attic fan in the evenings, thankful for the cool air after the sun dips behind the trees. This May, we spill onto the patio often. The sprinkler waters the grass; the children are barefoot. The boys hide under the giant holly bush and Sister draws her first person ever. I smile.