Lovelihood

A by-product of those s'mores cupcakes was a half-mixing-bowl batch of unformed marshmallow that, instead of folding into a pan to set and cube, I piped into albino snakes that I later snipped into hot-cocoa appropriate nubbins. Perfect for storing in mason jars until an appropriate hot-cocoa occasion arises.

Bear, putting on her supermodel pout as she hurtles toward me. That, certainly, is not the face of a baby, or even a toddler. She's full-on a kid.

Sure. Once I've eaten my pre-prepared oatmeal out of the jar, I could clean it out and put it back into storage until ready to be refilled with oats or cake batter or play dough or whatever else I'm planning to store in it. Or I could affix one of those solar panel garden stakes to a mason ring and screw it onto the jar for a firefly-less effect, perhaps doing a poor enough job with the hot glue that water seeps in, creating a reflecting surface for the LED bulb that turns on reliably every night.

Official fireworks don't start up until well after the kids' bedtime and require a trek and/or battle to find non-existent parking. Instead, The Mr. took a little drive out of city limits and came back with some sparklers to jam into the ground and light up for The Boy, who was understandably less than impressed. Next year, perhaps, we'll suck it up and keep the kids up late and head to an appropriate vantage for the patriotic display.

One bite-sized s'more cupcake, to be elaborated upon later.

Made a special trip to the kitchen store today to procure a torch. Because I finally devised an application for it that really would take no substitution in the form of non-gaslit roasting. I'm kind of terrified by and in ecstatic about it all at once.

Bear's birthday. I whipped out that tutu, lickety split, in extra-long, so long that she trips and stumbles over it as it slides down her overly clothed body. Turning two today, she's still so clueless about the concept of birthdays and gifts that clothes still afford a happy reception. And every time a new sweater or shirt emerged, it went directly on over whatever else she had put on last. The final layer, being a shimmery, shiny tutu that she clutched around her waist as she stumbled around the yard picking flowers.