*He's Up. We Are On With The Crazies. (And not getting my own ice cream.)

The day did not start off with ease and comfort we've had as of late. I suppose we were due. Mainly, I was tired, headachey, and ill-equipped for riding the emotional roller coaster of a spirited three and a half year old boy and his equally feisty baby sister. After convincing them that breakfast would be a good idea, they chowed down their overeasy eggs, then regrouped on the deck to play Street Sweeper, while I got us ready for our morning at the pool with friends.

The tools used in Street Sweeper are pretty minimal. A broom, 2 tablespoons of liquid dish soap, a water bottle (full of water, of course), a project manager, and one person to push the broom. Heath is always Project Manager, because he is skilled at telling people what to do in an authoritative, self-assured voice. He always has a well-organized plan, and, if his co-workers do what they are told, they are frequently lavished with great praises. (If they don't do what they are told, well, they are lavished with something else entirely.) He drops the soap on the ground, expertly squirts it with the water bottle, then yells, Okay, Gigs, it's ready to go! Stella is an excellent street sweeper. Her strokes with the broom are swift, long-reaching, and always suds up an excellent amount of squeaky-clean bubbles.

Fortunately, our morning and early afternoon at the pool worked its magical wonders on the Street Sweeping crew. They both took lengthy, sweaty-headed naps. And so did I. Good thing, too, because I had another Friday night trail running date. It was hot. We ran quite a bit. And now I'm so very hungry.

While I was gone, Mark put the kids in the baby jogger and ran up to the Redbox at the HT. They picked up The Crazies. Too bad Mark is asleep now.* Guess I'll have to dip my own ice cream tonight. Poor, poor me.