Of backyards and belly laughs.

Our backyard is easily twice the size of most inner-city parks. It's both fenced and ringed by privacy hedges. In the spring, it bursts with blooms I can't identify and the sweet smell of cherry blossoms and (on a good week) freshly mown grass. There is no trash, no sirens, no hum of traffic, and not a single unsavory character lurking about. This week especially, as we are inundated with images of riots in Baltimore just up the road, I am reminded of the thousands of kids in America who will never see such a backyard, who never eat breakfast listening to the sounds of birds chirping, who don't have a safe place to play. I know there are other, more basic and crucial, needs that aren't being met for those kids, but the lack of access to a safe green space tugs at my heartstrings, a metaphor for the loss of childhood itself.

I am determined that Finley will know and appreciate how lucky she is, which means dragging her outside to listen to the damn birds even though she (embarrassingly and hopefully temporarily) abhors sunlight. There's a bonus in it for me too, though, since kids have a way of turning lessons around on their purveyors. Yesterday afternoon, as I tried to get a little bit of work done on my iPad while Finley rolled around on my (her) new picnic blanket in the backyard, this demanding little face kept peering over the screen. So away went the distraction, and we laid side by side on the blanket and looked up at the treetops. I haven't done that in years. I vow to do it more often.

Speaking of the picnic blanket, it was my early birthday present from Mom & Dad, and it's my new favorite possession. By which I mean it's Finley's, and she loves it. Everyone should have one of these.

Finley and I have had lots of "Mommy and Me" time lately, since Seth is hard at work on his thesis proposal. We did take a break for the big JAG Regimental Ball Saturday night, though. As far as "obligatory events requiring expensive and uncomfortable uniforms" go, we couldn't have gotten luckier. This one was at the O'Club right down the street from Mom & Dad's house. So they let us completely destroy their weekend plans and crash at their house, and they hung out with Finley while we braved multiple wardrobe malfunctions, an incredibly long receiving line, and the world's hottest ballroom. We got this family picture out of the deal anyway, and woke up to cinnamon rolls. Mom & Dad's full service bed and breakfast rocks.

We took Finley to the Belvoir pool Sunday, which is way warmer than the one at Walter Reed. This time she lasted almost 20 minutes, and kicked and splashed until her lips turned blue. She still has the bradycardic response, which is awesome. She put her face in the water like a trooper and didn't even cry. We were beyond proud.

As a reward, we took ourselves to the new Buffalo Wild Wings on our way home (and Seth's way to the library.) Finley handled the menu like a pro

and wouldn't keep her hands off my beer. (At some point we realize this will stop being funny. But it hasn't yet.)

It was a busy week, but it did come with some belly laughs. Two of my favorites were the hand soap Seth picked up at the grocery store (Finley really does call the shots in the Nieman household, apparently):

and the view on the baby monitor Tuesday night. She slept like this for hours:

Oh, and last night, she learned how to do this. She was incredibly proud of herself.