Summer's Last (Lazy) Hurrah.

This is our last week of summer vacation.

Now granted, with a preschooler in three-mornings-a week school and both kids in one-afternoon-a-week gymnastics, we're not exactly Booked City (...but the every couple of hours commuting is downright truckertastic).

And when they've got stuff to do/prep/be carted to, it's a tad tougher to schedule my own stuff to do/prep/cart myself to. I know- wah- but it's definitely forcing me to enjoy every last second.

Which I realize totally defeats the purpose. (After all, I did write this piece right here earlier this very summer.)

But there are a few more days where we could- feasibly- spend some morning hours at our neighborhood beach.

Check out that one splash park we've been meaning to stomp through.

That summer concert series has just one more performance this season...and it wouldn't be beyond the scope of imagination to throw some sandwiches in a backpack for picnicking.

Come on, Zu, the rest of summer's this way.

And I bet our backyard would appreciate another blanket faceplanting session. (I think I heard it say it hopes someone will nap there this afternoon.)

Ambitious, I know. But I think the girls and I have it in us to squeeze the last bits of unfettered fun outta this summer. I'll keep you posted.

As soon as I put some pants on my children.

Real Men Rock Duct Tape.

Even though I haven't posted about him in awhile (Giving him a break from the limelight? Keeping him on his toes?), my Dad has been diligently undergoing his all-too frequent rounds with chemotherapy. (He has another one today.)

But last night? He out-Dadded himself. Here are some things I know about the man:

a) He's famous for the phrase "Buck up." (Unless his grandkids are around and looking snacky, then it's "Who needs another Munchkin?")

b) He personifies Monty Python's "It's merely a flesh wound." Nothing fazes the man. I remember reading something when I was little that roughly went- A man shouldn't cry unless a piano falls on him. Or something like that. Whatever the exact wording was, it always made me think of my Dad.

c) Nothing stands in the way of his guitar playing. At yesterday's performance of Live On The Lake, my Dad- who's been dealing with some nerve ending non-awesomeness in his fingers as a result of all the chemo- DUCT TAPED A PICK TO HIS FINGERS to aid in his shreddin'.

Duct tape. Fingers. Not letting a little thing like cancer prevent him from playing for his adoring fans. (Like my Mom.) How frickin' badass is that?!

At dinner last night, Nora casually referred to my Dad as SuperPop.

She's so, so right.

5 Things I Managed Yesterday.

Yesterday was one of those rather hard days. Nothing was particularly devastating, but I'd be hard-pressed to name the things I felt I did well. However, I'll try:

5. I made the bed. We're not talking hospital corners and starched sheets, here, but I definitely pulled the sheets up and fluffed the pillows and removed smallish board books from underneath the covers.

4. The children were fed throughout the day. Veggie and fruit options were in abundance. They were even eaten. On paper plates. Half-naked. In the backyard. (This was the third paper plate meal of the week. Reminder: It was Tuesday.)

Exhibits 1-4 of my incompetence:
Paper plate, hose bath, semi-naked toddler, and sloppy photograph.

3. I didn't publicly cry. Privately either. Kept it in. Kept it all in. (3a. I did not fall asleep, either in public or in the vicinity of my very much so awake children.)

2. Even though no one currently residing in my household took what could even be loosely construed as "a bath," my kids were definitely hosed off. With a hose. (To be fair, they thought it was awesome.)

1. As I fell asleep, I agreed to do it all again tomorrow.

But better.

Uncle Fe! Cape Cod! More Excessive Eating!

You guys. Not only did I have a fantastic time with the fam in Cape Cod this past week (demolishing lobster rolls/ napping on the beach/ getting swept out to sea with my Mom/ playing high-stakes board games until midnight/ teaching my daughters how to properly pick up hermit crabs without accidentally ripping off their claws/ demolishing more lobster rolls) but I also got to hang out with THIS guy:

That's right, people, I saw Uncle Fe. (Here's my recent post about how awesome he is/ how unfair his struggles are.)

And he brought boxes and trays and bags of food, y'all. Stuff from Sam's Bakery in Fall River, MA; Syrian bread and meat pies and meat and yogurt pies and broccoli and feta pies and cabbage and onion pies and zaartar bread and all sorts of the Lebanese/Armenian foods on which I was raised (and on which I frequently gorge when in the presence of Uncle Felix and my mother).

And for the kids? Uncle Fe and his sister DeeDee brought beach pails and shovels and construction paper and paints and stickers and glitter and pencils and suncatchers and foam shapes and allll sorts of things to do on a rainy Cape Cod afternoon.

Even though he was in the midst of his chemo treatments, you'd seriously never know it. He hugged and kissed the babies, rested with my folks on the porch, and cracked the sort of jokes for which he is world-famous.

It was an awesome day.

It was too-short of an awesome day.

Seeya next summer, Uncle Fe. I'll bring the new-ish person, you bring your effervescent self.

(And okay, maybe one or two of those cabbage pies.)