I’d just spent ten minutes talking Lucy out from under her bed – she’d called Julia a dumbass – when I came downstairs and saw this.

On the puzzle on the table

Oh, hi Picasso.


So nice to see you on my table.


“What? You want me to move?”

Cute, right?


Even cuter...

“Are you sure?”


“Alright. I’ll get up. Dumbass.”

Geez, what a potty mouth.

I’ve been looking pretty old and haggard, lately, and I made mention of it while combing Lucy’s hair after bath time recently. And so, she sang me the most heart-felt and sincere version of that song Rapunzel sings in Tangled to make her hair glow.

“Do you feel better?” she asked.

I gave her a smile. “I do.”

She leaned in close and whispered, “I think my hair might be magic, too.”

“I think you’re right. Will you sing that again?”

She did.

Definitely magic.

Guess where this penny has been?

Phoebe's Penny

If you guessed, “on a wild ride through Phoebe’s digestive system,” you win! (I won’t make you look at the penny-in-the-poop discovery photos.)

I know. You’re shaking your head at me. Leslie, you understand that baby-proofing your house includes keeping small items like this picked up and put away so tiny hands can’t get them, don’t you? How did this happen? Well, I’ll tell you: It was my mother’s fault. No. No! I’m kidding!!! (Mom, I’m mostly kidding.) It was Julia and Lucy’s fault.

My mom was keeping an eye on the girls while I was “working out” in the basement. They were playing Store and feeling uninspired by their wooden play money’s lack of authenticity and so they broke open their bank to use the real stuff. My mother told them not to do it. She told them to put the money away. They did not listen and Phoebe had an Abe Lincoln snack.

*Generally, I “work out” during nap time or when Dave is home, but he’s currently in the middle of a seventeen day work bender, which means he’s only home for about 8 hours every four days and during that time, he’s sleeping or going to softball meetings or bringing kids to my Kindermusik class which is why my mom was watching the girls. So, technically, I guess it’s Dave’s fault. I also blame fitness.

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