I refuse to accept the fact that I've already been home for over 48 hours.
There's a little piece of my heart that got left in Montana (Jack is probably pointing at it emphatically, shouting "oooh!" at this very moment... Or trying to eat it, one of the two) and I just can't seem to reason my head into believing I already came and went.
Are we on to something here kids?
I want to go back to Montana.
The best part of any friendship worth its salt is that you can always pick back up where you left off. No time passes really, not when you're so excited to see each other you forget it's been a year since you waved goodbye on a bright Portland morning.
Laura and I didn't manage to work any waffles into the mix last week but the french toast at Cafe Regis was a welcomed stand-in.
And heaven knows we did our share of coffee drinking (the morning I got to babysit for Jack included the full 10 cup (12 cup?) pot all to myself - no complaints until I got the shakes after realizing all I'd had for breakfast was the banana I'd split with Little Man).
All this to say that there will probably be multiple Montana posts in the next week - I'm writing them all in my head at the moment, not having quite enough wherewithal to put fingertips to keyboard yet.
But first I have to organize the thousand or so photos (don't worry, there are probably only a couple hundred worth posting), get through the next five days of work (today was day 2 of 7), get some work done on a website design for my dad, play around with a potential business plan for the Etsy shop I still haven't given up on, and wrap my head around the fact that I think I just got two more paying photography gigs.