You guys! My book is on Amazon and available for pre-order! I can't even believe it. So weird to think that it's almost ready and will be arriving on bookshelves and people's door steps on August 16th. It's called The Big 15 Paleo Cookbook and it is chock-full of recipes--150 of them, plus a bunch of variations so you can switch things up whenever you're in the mood for something different.

It's really surreal to be sharing the cover with you, and I am just so excited to see it on Amazon. In the next few weeks before the release date, I'm going to be sharing a few recipe sneak peeks, so be sure to stay tuned for those! A lot of the recipes are brand new that I created just for the book, and then some of them are family recipes that my mom and I have Paleo-ified over the years. 

This book has been one of the most exciting parts of my career so far, and it means the world to me to see so many of you so excited about it. I can't wait for you to read it!

This drink is perfect for hot summer days, and I know that because my friend Corri and I polished off a batch of them on my porch over the weekend. I used elderflower liquor again because I still have a lot of it left over from last time, but you could skip it and sweeten this drink with a drizzle of honey instead. And if you wanted to make this into a mocktail, just swap the Prosecco for cucumber, berry, or lemon soda water (this one is my favorite but Trader Joe's has a cucumber one that's great, too). 

Ingredients: 

• 4-5 fresh blackberries
• Juice of half a lemon (optional)
• About an ounce of elderflower liquor (or a tablespoon of honey)
• 4-5 ounces of Prosecco (or soda water)
• Sliced cucumber, for garnish

Instructions: 

1. In a tall glass, muddle the blackberries and lemon juice together (if you're using honey, now is the time to add it).
2. Fill the glass with ice and add the elderflower liquor. Top with Prosecco or soda water and garnish with a slice of cucumber. 

Cheers!

If Memorial Day is the beginning of summer and Labor Day is the end of it, then the 4th of July is the point at which I start thinking about autumn. I daydream about hot lattes in warm mugs, about new jeans and smart, structured jackets and that crisp smell of a cool morning.

I didn't know I didn't like summer until a few years ago--probably when we moved back to the Southeast from Minnesota. Growing up in Virginia, I understood and even felt the magic of summer every year--the muggy mornings, cicadas chirping away in the distance, fireflies flickering in the early evening. My brother and I used to set off into the streets of our suburban neighborhood for giant games of flashlight tag with our summer friends--the kids who we didn't go to school with but were inseparable from every summer vacation. No school, no worries, just pools and sprinklers and popsicles all day. I get it.

But this weekend Rob was home and we did something we don't usually do--we went clothes shopping. He and I will occasionally buy ourselves a new shirt or pair of shoes here and there, but it was a holiday weekend and there were sales and we're moving to California, so we basically bought ourselves a new wardrobe for the Bay Area. 

I've been feeling so up and down about the prospect of moving across the country, but this weekend made me feel even more hopeful than I have before. Maybe it was sweating through upper 90-degree afternoons, or maybe it was coming to the realization that I'm going to need more jeans and a new jacket for fall in California. A lot of it was just being reunited with Rob for a long weekend. But I think most of it is that part of me that always comes around this time of year--the one who doesn't want to wish the summer away, but can't seem to help it.

I am learning, a little bit more every day, to just be. That it's okay to be excited for the future, and sometimes it's okay to dread it a little bit too. Summer is here. There are friends to laugh with and rosé to drink. The mosquitos will bite. But fireflies will flicker; and big, fat, pink peonies will gloriously open up in the vase you place by the kitchen sink. 

And autumn will come around eventually.