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I may not be able to pick him up for much longer… 5’8″ with my level of strength is no match for a five-year-old who’s almost two thirds my height. But that doesn’t mean he’s a match for his dad who’s got almost a half-foot on me. And he can’t yet escape his dad’s strong clutch when he’s due for more put-that-ornery/sarcastic-little-attitude-in-its-place tickles and gobbles.


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15% of all purchases made at our local Wendy’s until 8pm tonight would go to Isaac’s school. So it was a no-brainer choosing to eat out there and opt for a night off of cooking. I’m all about any opportunity to support our son’s education. Plus, Frosties.


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Temptation runs high to cherry-pick only what we like and only what we want to see when documenting our days. It’s tempting, because most things we see out there are always curated just so. But I would be remiss in not including the most common—even ugly—of scenes I nearly-daily see… the least beautiful (in the eyes of professional curators) of scenes. This is my truth. A mess created throughout dinner, staring up at me post-dinner and making me feel lazy for being too tired to clean it. Three… count ’em… three utensils, dirtied by just one child. Table real estate snatched up by piles of paper and things tables (or families) don’t even need. One corner here, and so many more similar to this behind the camera. These are the truest, least gratifying views of parenthood. But they make the much-more-glamorous views as treasured as they are. So I celebrate these, too.

Greasy plates, crumpled napkins inside sticky cups, and all.



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Such a different world it would be if there’d never been a Shel Silverstein or Dr. Seuss. Their works for children are Isaac’s favorites, by far.
A Giraffe and a Half is one of my favorites, too.
On a totally unrelated note, I’m painfully aware, now that I’m seeing it in a photo, that we really need to finally finish putting up baseboards after not having them these past three years. It’s amazing what a person stops seeing after seeing it for too long.