These real best days

Several years ago, in a previous life (I've had several), when Alena had been walking for only a short time and Alivia was still relatively fresh in the world, an older lady at the mall stopped to admire the girls and said to me, "Honey, these are the best days. Remember them."

At the time, I was trying to corral Alena who was proudly wandering in a deserted corridor of the mall, while trying to remember where the closest restroom was in order to change Alivia's diaper. The girls were happy. I was tired.

"Yeah, right," I thought to myself as I "no, no"-ed Alena from going any closer to a trash can. She was at that stage where she understood what I was saying, but the freedom she had found far outweighed any attention she paid to my voice. She moved quicker.

But, as I went on to change Alivia's poop-filled diaper in the public restroom (and I will always get the creeps at the thought of changing babies in public restrooms, it's a hang-up I have), I took her words to heart and committed the day to memory.

Three years and two babies later, though, I've learned that while that nice little old lady caused me to forever etch that day in my mind, those weren't the best days. These are.

And while there are now four kids who ignore my "no-no"s, at least they are all old enough to hear, process and decide against my warnings rather than being controlled by the freedom of first steps. Plus, there aren't anymore poopy diapers.

To help commemorate these new, true best days ... a rundown of the past week.

living :: outside, in the sunshine, soaking it up. Ahh, liberation from being confined indoors.

baking :: imaginary apple pies with water and pizzas with bright blue Crayola sand. Yum.

journaling :: in Alena's new "High School Musical" spiral notebook. She's meticulous in writing letter by letter, word by word, line by line and page by page. Today she declared she wants to write songs in it. Magnificent.

splashing :: in sprinklers, bird baths or anything that holds water. Squealing as the cool water hits warm skin.

roasting :: marshmallows in the backyard chiminea (as a bonus, I don't need to include "puking ::" to the list, even though nearly the entire bag of marshmallows was consumed).

chilling :: in bathing suits with sandy hands and grassy feet.

pouring :: water from cup to cup, cup to bowl, bowl to lid as water table play resumes outside.

eating :: at Frisch's Big Boy. The kids believe this to be fine dining (along with Skyline) ... we're fancy like that. And, only three of the four of them managed to get their elbows stuck in the slats of the chair backs during our recent lunch.