It's always sunny in Philadelphia

We're here- we're in Philadelphia on the 4th of July weekend. Because we so crazy.

First things first- visit the Franklin Fountain per instructions from Philly friends. It's called prioritization.

The line was long, draped around the corner onto the sidewalk. Lines for food don't stop the Griffiths, though. We train for this kind of stuff at the State Fair.

We made it through the line! Time to wait for our order! Excitement!

(This would be the most excited Daniel was all day long.)

I ordered the Southern Sympathizer. "Rum raisin and pistachio ice creams with pecans and pistachios smothered in hot caramel and studded with praline brittle." They threw everything that may have been enjoyed by Confederates into a bowl together and figured someone would order it. That someone was me, and for once my bowl of ice cream dwarfed everyone else's at the table.

I had to take lots of insulin.

Seriously, I am so glad I didn't try to wear my girdle today.

We walked around Elfreth's Alley to burn off pistachios and spy on people's homes. It felt sort of like Diagon Alley, except there were no wizards. But I saw a few people with really long beards.

Natalie and Eve really didn't understand how people would have posed for portraits during Benjamin Franklin's time.

We almost went into the Betsy Ross House, but we figured we would save our money for cheese steaks later. But here is a fountain with some cats on it in front of her house that I mistook for really large rats. Which I hear were problematic in Colonial Philadelphia.

(Unless your name was Wilbur and you were some pig.)

After me training for my Ultimate Hike by walking around with 35 lbs. of daughter in the 90-degree heat all day long, I decided cheese steak would be a fitting dinner to make sure I didn't lose any weight. Because I totally might have lost a [much needed] whole ounce.

I posted my question to friends familiar with Philadelphia: where's the best cheese steak? My criteria: it must be safe*, and there must be Cheese Whiz.

Jim's Steaks ended up being only eight blocks away, which I figured would be plenty enough blocks away to walk off however much we ate. Because we walk with spunk, like zombies in the Thriller video except without the big shoulder pads.

The front desk clerk at the hotel told us to walk because our children had so much energy. That we should just "let them run ahead of us and then you'll be there before you know it."

There were two things wrong with that statement: 1. Our kids do not run ahead of us. They are not from the city. They will run into the street. 2. We got there, but I was definitely aware of how long it took us to walk there.

All you skinny granola-loving hikers can stop judging us. It's hard herding, especially when there are so many cemeteries that your children want to run inside and play in on the way.

The line snaked out the building. Either it must be good, or everyone saw it on the Food Network.

(Just because it's on the Food Network, doesn't mean it's good. I'm looking at you, Sandra Lee.)

This is a cheese steak of the Cheese Whiz variety, with mushrooms, peppers, and onions:

I could go for a snack right now just looking at that picture.

It was starting to get dark after we finished our food, and the scene suddenly went from families to people I wasn't yet ready to expose my family to. We headed back to the hotel, and Daniel was so lost in his water ice that he only stopped to stare as he almost walked into a group rapping on the street corner. I hope he doesn't remember all of those words I usually s-p-e-l-l out.

This is what a 5-year-old boy's feet will look like after a day of hiking around Philadelphia:

This is what your friends are talking about when they say boys are different than girls.

*I didn't want any trouble on the playground if my kids were chilling out, maxing, relaxing all cool.