Mooshinsky

It doesn't matter how we refer to Maia, she loves most all attention she can get even if she's being called Godzilla, Killer or Big Nasty (let me note that I, her father, am the sole custodian of such nicknames).

Maia has to be one of the most pleasant-tempered babies around. She never (really NEVER) cries unless it's one of the trifecta: food, diaper or sleep. Even then she's pretty forgiving as we've spent the last three months learning how to navigate one another.

We never get tired of watching her coo and squeak, intently surveiling all the goings-on around her. And, of course, when she smiles like a sunrise on the beach, she wins our hearts every time.

The Fourth of July

Not to be confused with July 3 or 5, the FOURTH of July is a big deal in our family since it is a time to celebrate generations of Americans' Christ-like sacrifice so that we all could have freedom. It is a time where we find ourselves enjoying the company of family and good friends, too much food and (of all things) large explosions in the night sky.

At any other time of year, you would likely find people bothered by loud, thunderous cracking that echoes off the trees and rattles windows. But one weekend each year reveals boys discovering fire as they shoot off rockets and people supportively look on as Roman candles blaze. Even though by the following year you can hardly remember the previous year's fireworks show, there is something that inspires wonder in every age as we peer into the darkness overhead and anticipate the decibels bulging in our chests.