I always struggle with this so much.  I want to share my life with you but for me, a vast chunk of my life involves my children.  Unfortunately, I don't feel comfortable posting their pictures on the Internet.  And so these distant-second-type photos will have to suffice:

We made miniature oven-baked clay sundaes.  As you can see, the girls did an amazing job.  They were careful and detail-oriented.  One would, it probably goes without saying, never attempt this at a boy birthday party.  For a whole variety of reasons.

The food.  Minus the pizza.  Again, you'll want to avoid this kind of thing at a boy party.  They'd never notice or care and in a second and a half, the only evidence of all your hard work will be a smattering of crumbs.  Oliver has already requested a Dairy Queen ice cream cake and that's A-OK with me.  The girls eat all this up, though.  Both literally and otherwise.

Lucy requested that each of her little friends bring along their favorite doll so as to provide her doll - Sophie - with the companionship she so richly deserves.  High times were had in abundance.  In both the human and non-human realms.  (Don't do as JoyBoy did over and over again to his delight and suggest to the little ladies that their dolls are made of PLASTIC, of all things.  He was  indignantly informed that these little dolls are REAL.  I can vouch for the fact that some of them have more elaborate wardrobes than I do, at any rate.)

Happy Birthday my beautiful brown Girl.  You have richened my life immeasurably.

Lucy had her birthday party today.   To celebrate her Purpleness, Anabel and I made these.  We learned how to from Bakerella, whom I cannot recommend  highly enough.  Check out her website at bakerella.com; you'll be happy you did.

I like to think of myself as a relatively competent person.  Actually,  I prefer to be a very competent person whenever possible.  It really bugs me when after repeated attempts, I struggle with something still.   Something like this:

I look around me in the hot yoga room (though of course you're not supposed to) and I see people all around me mastering this pose.  The Toe Stand Pose.  I see fat people, thin people, short people, old people.  They're all doing it with confidence and grace.  But do you suppose that makes any sort of difference when it comes to me and the supposed twisting of my body into the intricacies of this posture?

This, no problem.  For whatever reason, I find this one easy:

And this one, too:

But the Toe Stand Pose?   It mocks me.

I've mentioned with what is no doubt a sickening frequency that I live in the forest on a mountain.  It's a little eccentricity I have to obsess about it.  About four times a week in the late Spring, Summer and early Fall, I gird up my proverbial loins and go for a run on the trail behind my house.  It's gobsmackingly beautiful (I'm testing your patience to see just how many times you're willing to put up with me using that word:  gobsmacking!  gobsmacking!  aaaand gobsmacking!).  The trail is peaceful in a way that I find hard to convey.  Everywhere you look, there is extreme Beauty of the sort that makes you feel pleasantly small and insignificant.  Before you know it, an hour has zipped by and you've hardly registered the fact.  You've been too busy watching the white butterflies drifting lazily around the blackberry bush blossoms and the occasional leaf zig zag slowly to the ground.  There are countless birds flitting about and there is the infrequent mole or deer to factor in.  What you don't want to encounter - and luckily thus far, I haven't - are the bears and cougars.  I'm not one of those fluidly silent runners and the great noise I make while lumbering through the forest has thus far been enough to keep the more carnivorous animals at what I imagine is a wary bay.

The plump blackberries are ripening fast just now and are a bit of a distraction if one is keeping track of running times and distances.  The trail, though it is mostly shaded by the massive cedars frequenting this area, and therefore lovely and relatively cool even on the hottest summer day, showcases sporadic shafts of gossamer sunlight that bring to mind Lothlorian of Tolkien lore.   You half expect to see FairyFolk peering out at you as you run past.  It's a true rest for the spirit to run here and when you arrive at home, sweaty and profoundly unattractive, you feel centered and happy, fulfilled and lucky.