Pictures That May Just Make You Feel Awesome.

Sometimes, after a long week of posting about cancer (and how you inadvertently flash your thong at church), it's nice to see some pictures of baybees being all cute:

Fun factoid: Their swimsuits are interchangeable. That's right, my 1.5 and 3.5 year olds wear the same swimmies.

"I'm not tired. I'm just gonna sit here. Sideways. With my eyes closed. For an hour and a half. NOT TIRED."

Cancer And I Need To Have Words.

So listen, I'm super duper sick of writing about cancer. Because it sucks and it's awful and it's evil and I want it to stop affecting my loved ones (and their loved ones). 

But I'm gonna need to go ahead and ask for some more of those Hey Internet, Let's Beat Cancer vibes.

Because my Uncle Felix- an extremely good friend of my family's and my sister Rachel's godfather- was just stricken with cancer. And it's bad. Like, wicked, wicked, inoperable bad. And that's just wrong. Like, wicked, wicked this can't be possible wrong. Because Uncle Fe is the guy who makes the rules. He doesn't depend on the calendar to tell him when Christmas is; he is Christmas. 

Case in point: Whenever he'd visit us as kiddos (multiple times a year), he'd bring a carload of presents. Because (he'd say) that he missed Christmas (he never missed Christmas) or that someone's birthday was coming up and he didn't want anyone else to feel badly because he wasn't sure if he'd celebrated their birthday (he had), and "Dave and Debbie, are you trying to tell me what to do?" (They didn't stand a chance.) 

One year, during our vacation to Cape Cod, he decided that he must've missed everyone's birthday because he arrived with four birthday cakes. One for each Flynn girl. We couldn't possibly be expected to share, could we? (We agreed that no, we could not. Not for something as sacred as an individual birthday.) 

Netflix Wants To Make Your Summer Easier (And Nicer).

This is a sponsored post written by me on behalf of Netflix. (Whoo hoo!)

No one should be surprised by now that my family loves watching movies. And shows. And documentaries. And war epics. (Okay, that last one is a highly specific cross-section of the family which includes just one individual. He’s the tallest. And the only boy. And he’s P.J.)

And I know y’all know how hard I love Netflix. The instant gratification. The nonexistent commercials. And the ability to- say- watch it from nearly any device as I fold laundry/wash dishes/distract the heck outta my children. That’s not to say we haven’t been spending an insane amount of this [rainy] summer outdoors. We have. But sometimes- just sometimes- my overheated, overstimulated, undernapped children need a little help unwinding as we set the table, prep some dinner, and wash our hands for the umpteenth time.

And a crazy li'l fact: Did you know that parents spend nearly double on summertime entertainment for their kiddos than they do during the holidays? And how about this- a one year subscription to Netflix (at $7.99 a month) costs less than taking two trips to the movies with a family of five? (And we haven't even hit the snack bar yet.) Why not do as my family does...and watch a movie after supper...and stay up a little too late...and stay up even longer talking about it...and act out a few pivotal scenes/characters/voices...and ask for a breakfast inspired by the movie the next morning? (Again, a few of these things are very family member-specific.) 

Is There A Penance For That?

What's that old saying- No Good Deed Goes Unpunished? Well, it oughta be amended to include the words And It's Probably Gonna Be Public, Too.

The other night as we were tucking in Nora, she looked up from her laundry list of prayers (people she loves/cupcakes/apples) and asked if we could go to church soon.

P.J. and I exchanged a look. Oh yes, that. Ha HA! Now, my girls are no strangers to church, but our recent weekends have included odd deviations like the norovirus and 36-hour bachelor parties and debilitating morning sickness. And our usual parish has the unfortunate designation of being roughly an eight minute drive away, so sometimes it's easier to tell ourselves that no one would really expect us to travel so far a distance- we'd have to, like, get a room for the night.

The sinner and her accomplice during happier times.

But there's no guilt like a 3 year-old's guilt, so I decided that yesterday we would Make The Effort. There's a perfectly sweet Catholic church less than a block from our house- and sure, only a couple of masses each weekend are spoken in English, but we would Make The Effort to attend one of the English-speaking ones. What good Christians we were gonna be!

As we walked into the 11:15am mass, we were struck by two facts; one, that we were among a handful of non-Hispanic and non-Filipino families. Two, that Susannah- she of the 3am wakin' faction- was looking really tired. But we were there to pray, and we were all looking decently nice. This was an especially big deal for me, since the combo of oppressive humidity and a growing figure comfy in neither maternity nor non-maternity exclusively was making it difficult to wear things out n' about. But the outfit I had chosen- a long maternity tank and favorite lightweight (and elastic) summer skirt was making me feel rather pretty.

Sister Mary Pious, that's me.