We've spent many late Augusts on family vacation. Like chubby fisted kids dolloping paste unto a toothbrush, we've squeezed out the last days of summer boating, hiking in the mountains or even paddling in the ocean. Our last hurrah before the rigorous scheduled life begins and to do a little school shopping. This year we find ourselves not a lake. Not at an ocean. Not anywhere near a mountain. We are in the desert. And baby it's hot outside. The thermostat on the car registers 117 F.  I'm tempted to see if I can fry an egg out there. It certainly made a mess of the flameless candles. The orange trees and a few palms are scorched.  I watch some labourers laying brick in the neighbour's yard and wonder how they  function in this heat. It's not lost on me that this is an excellent example for changing immigration laws.

We catch up on movies. Watch a TV series. Read books. Talk. Play board games. Eat. We go to yoga or to the gym. We dance. And cool off in the pool. We've reared four very strong personalities and herding them in one direction takes all the dogged determination we have. So this year we have given each child a day to determine what we will do and when and how. They cook the dinner of their choice. And happily we mostly go with it.

I like who these kids have become. I like spending time with each of them and all of them. They're opinionated. They like to talk and debate on any subject. And can without much prompting. They enjoy music and when they see a movie they can discuss it on many levels. They are funny. They are well read.  Really really messy (okay that part isn't fun but a clean house is overrated they tell me).  And what tickles me most is they apparently like holidaying together too because they keep coming back each August. Even in the desert.