We’ve got this porch swing in front of the house that I like to swing on when the girls are napping. It creaks like an old man with “arthur”-itis (thanks, Gram), but it is so nice to just relax, southern style.

The other day, when were killing time between snacks and dinner, we all went outside for a swing. Mo sprawled all over the swing, legs akimbo, while Co was happy to be upright of her her own doing, hanging onto the rails.

So what if I had not clue what was on the menu for dinner? It’s not like we all can’t afford to miss a meal, anyway. That afternoon was a rare one. The breeze was nice, the shadows were lengthening, the girls were getting along. I could hear Wilford Brimley ticking off the merits of Countrytime Lemonade and was actually surprised not to see Bartles and Jaymes sitting on the porch swing at the house next door. Sure, it wasn’t a Calgon moment, but I’ll take it.