I ate more than anyone should eat this weekend. I'm also pretty sure I finished my bibliographic essay, which means I'm finally done with my master's program. We'll see. This week is going to be a big one, and while the weekend itself was really nice, I've been looking forward to these next days for a while. Rob is coming home! Until then, here's a look at the past few days:

Up bright and early on Saturday to take Rocky for a check-up at the vet. 

He's so confused about being in the back seat of my car. 

Made homemade almond milk.

My sweet friend Claire came over on Sunday to hang out and have dinner.

Grilled artichokes and a glass of wine on the back deck. Not too bad.

I also drank tea, went to bed early every night, and spent some time reading outside. What did you do this weekend? 

Happy Monday!

All dressed up in the summer: 

A big twirly sundress with pockets and buttons down the front.

Where turquoise and orange go together surprisingly well.

And where you never really have to brush your hair.

Tulle Dress: La De Da

Necklace: J.Crew

Watch: Fossil

Shoes: c/o Jigsaw London

I came across five or six of these little old soup cans situated on a table on our back porch the other day and I've found myself mindlessly visiting, touching, and photographing them ever since. The plants are small and soft, the cans tall and slim, but rusted and much older. 

There's something about them that I like--maybe it's their size, but there's something resilient about them and the way they are sprouting up even though we sometimes over-water them and then leave them out all day in the blazing Virginia heat.

Rosemary, parsley, basil, oregano, some peppers, and thyme.

Plants simply growing where they are planted is not nearly a work of magic, I know, but it's little tiny things like this that make me stop and feel thankful to be part of this world. To feel the sun beat down on me, to walk barefoot in the grass. To appreciate the texture and color of an old can. To find hope in tiny roots and warm, wet soil--little pots of potential.