Bowl-a-Rama

Pool rats

They would live at the pool, if the could. Pool rats that they are. Or aspire to be.

But not one of them is swimming independently yet. Well, At eight years old, Lily Kate is just beginning to. So, despite puddle jumpers strapped to my non-swimmers, lifeguards and constant supervision, mommy is a bit of a stressed-out wreck at the pool.

But, these faces are worth it.

Seeking Cupcake Asylum

Did you know that it's impossible for bad days and cupcakes to exist in the same space? You probably did.


That's why, whenever I'm having a string of bad parenting moments that are ganging up on me and forming an actual really bad day, I pack the girls up and we head straight over to the local cupcake shop. 

(Yep. That's a sprinkles bar. For real.)

Because cupcakes and bad days cannot exist together in the time-space continuum, once we pass over the threshold of the cupcake shop, that bad day CEASES to exist. Stops dead in it's tracks. It's true.


Joy (and parenting solutions) are borne of pain, and we only stumbled upon this a few months ago, after the mean lady at the nationally famous pet store denied our doggies entry to the grooming salon because their pregnant mommy got them there fifteen minutes late. It was the latest in a series of hard, sweaty, taxing moments that week. Two pigtailed little girls and a huge pregnant belly could not sway her. Perhaps hot, pregnant, ridiculous tears could not sway her either. I'm not actually saying I cried. But, I did. I cried. Does it make it better if I say they were the quiet, pretty kind, just streaming down my face like Demi Moore in "Ghost"? 


But, when we got in the car, I saw in the very same shopping center, the beloved beacon of light. I declared, "No more!" Go away, bad day. Go away, scary hormonal version of myself. We are heading for that pink awning and the safe harbor of sugary redemption inside.

I heart you, Cupcake Asylum. You never fail me. And you're delicious.

How FJ does July Fourth.

God bless you, pedicure lady.

nights at the track

Dear Girls,
We are in the middle of a heat wave. Like, mind-blowing kind of heat. But, once the sun starts to set, we've been sneaking down to the track at the local school. Mommy and Daddy take turns running while you all run around the fields.

You play "Brave" or fairies and dance in circles. I play Celtic tunes from my iphone and you pretend to be knights in epic battle.

Your cheeks get pink. Your eyes get wild.

Your imaginations spill over. We are all carefree.

You cheer me on while I run. I try to play it cool, but hearing your little voices chant and cheer for me makes my heart burst.

And then there's this face watching it all. Makes all of our hearts burst, I think.

Then we head to the car and go home. We are hot and sweaty. Worn out. But usually singing a silly song. You beg to hear the muppets for the fiftieth time. 

We get home and everyone gets a quick bath, and we kiss your clean heads before bed.

It is my very favorite.

Mercy