Um, because my parents LOVE me, that’s why!

But I can see how one could make that mistake because sometimes I’m all focused and totally enga– look, Labradoodle! What? And, sure, people HAVE been known to give their kids just SUPER first names like “Apple” and “Kal-El” and “Pilot Inspektor” so you never can tell. Not that I’m judging you for naming your daughter “Memphis Eve,” Bono. Well, I am a little. But I love you so it’s all good.

Speaking of random, every so often a TV show comes along that I enjoy much more than I should. Case in point, I (not so) secretly love the CW’s Hart of Dixie. (Shut up! Summer Roberts is a DOCTOR, y’all! In Alabama! I know, right?!) I’m pretty sure it qualifies as a “guilty pleasure,” but I have to say its charm and general predictability are comforting. Then again, I am still much more emotionally attached to Veronica Mars than a grown, sensible woman should be. I have strong opinions about The Secret Circle being cancelled. I own all seven seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on DVD and still call shenanigans with the whole “Willow is gay!” retcon. (Whatever. I loved me some Oz…) I’m just saying that sometimes I get obsessed with shows… some of which are not terribly cerebral.

Plus, there is an entire Hart of Dixie Fug File at GoFugYourself.com! So there you go. Good times, y’all, because those Fug Girls are fuh-HUNNY.

So back to the show… I mean, I don’t even care that my willing suspension of disbelief is stretched almost to the breaking point every week (Summer Roberts is a DOCTOR, y’all! In Alabama!), with Dr. Zoe Hart running around Bluebell rocking the formal short-shorts and high heels, because Rachel Bilson is HI-larious as Doctor Zoe Hart, Cress Williams is perfect as Mayor Lavon Hayes, and Wilson Bethel absolutely brings it as Wade Kinsella. And by “it” I mean the OhSOPretty. (Google him. Go on. You’ll see. No, I can wait.) Oh, and there is a main character named Lemon Breeland who is engaged to Golden Boy George Tucker (AKA Jason Street, also AKA Scott Porter). Yes, Lemon! As in Lemonade! Or Lemon Drop! I just think that’s swell.

And did I mention that Summer Roberts is a DOCTOR? In Alabama?!

Yes, I know she isn’t really Summer Roberts, but I can imagine that Summer went off to NYC and became a surgeon if I WANT to, okay? Deal with my delusions.

In any event, one of my favorite thing about this show is its randomness. (See? I had a point! And there’s more where that came from, buster!) It’s a lot like Gilmore Girls, in that respect. And Gilmore Girls was awesome. Mostly. Except that whole mess with Christopher at the end. HATE.

Where was I? Right! Randomness! Focusing! I love the random moments on this show. For instance, there was a couples counseling session between Lemon and a reluctant George a few episodes back (“The Race and the Relationship”) that I must have rewatched eight times before I could stop laughing long enough to wipe away the tears (of hysterical laughter) and catch the whole thing. See, there were these ridiculous yellow Nerf-style sticks/bats involved… but you probably had to be there. All I’m saying is the random, montage-esque sequence worked. I think I would montage my own counseling moments, too, if that were a viable option– although I’m still debating the soundtrack…

And then there was the scene in the finale this week (“The Big Day”) when Zoe was trying to get a stubborn Wade into her car before a huge storm hit. I’ll just transcribe the random conversation in it’s entirety:

(Zoe drives up alongside Wade, who is stranded on the side of the road) “There’s a big storm on the way, so I’m here to give you a ride.”

“Go. Away.”

“Look, I promised Lavon, okay? So I am just going to sit here until you get in the car…”

(Wade pointedly ignores her, but she perseveres)

“…Staring at you. Sitting… and waiting…(now in a sing-song-slash-white-girl-rap voice, bopping her head to the beat) Staring… and waiting… I’m staring!… And waiting!… I’m–”

“All right! Fine! Okay? I’ll ride with you… Just STOP singing.”

Along with the “HA!” factor, the best part of this random moment for me is the truth in it. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been talking, when suddenly it occurs to me that whatever it is I’m saying would make a killer song, so of course I start singing what I’m saying and maybe even choreograph some moves to it until my kids are like, “MOM!” or TGIM is all “CAT!” or Paige is all… well, Paige usually starts singing along and slapping her butt to the beat and stuff, but you get the idea. We all have a little bit of randomness in us. Don’t fight it. Embrace it. Love it.

At the end of the day, I’m no dumber for having watched the show, and I usually come away with a smile, so bring it on Bilson and Co. I’m looking forward to season 2.

One last bit of Hart of Dixie randomness: Hart of Dixie – Call Me Doctor *NSFW (Not Safe For Work)

WARNING: This (TOTALLY NSFW) video made me laugh. So SO much. But Bilson doesn’t hold back with the profanity, just FYI. Don’t judge me… because seriously, how can anyone not laugh when she raps, “Get a pap smear with an oven mitt, bitch!” She’s so fierce! And teensy! It’s adorable… and a little off-putting. Dude. More cognitive dissonance! What?!

In other news, ofttimes I am random and inappropriate.

More than a month ago my sister-in-law– gathering responses from all my sisters-in-law for a Mother’s Day gift she was working on– asked me what I thought were the most important attributes a mother should have.

Besides an affinity for nagging and mastery of the wordless, steely gaze of guilt? I wondered.

But I dug down deep– DEEP, I tell you! Like, Challenger Deep deep!– and dredged up from a somewhat eclectic host of obscure memories my succinct thoughts (I know, right?! Brevity, son! What up!) on motherhood:

A mother needs patience (until her children realize mom IS NOT, in fact, clueless), a selfless nature (kids don’t understand “your ice cream” vs. “Momma’s ice cream”; dessert is dessert, so share!), steadfastness (for courageous parenting and discipline), and an unflinching ability to listen to Justin Bieber.

Most of all, a mother needs to have a sense of humor. Life is hard. Bad things WILL happen. A mother who can find the humor and laugh when life throws curve balls at her is a mother who may be battered and bruised… but never broken.

Bam, said the lady. There you go. I’m finished. C’est tout!

Yep. That is all I have to say about that.

I’m not going to lie. I’m a little freaked out right now.

Because it’s no secret that there was a time– a brief moment!–when I was somewhat fond of High School Musical. For the children, obviously. Some might say I leaned less towards “fond” and much, much more towards “obsessed,” but it’s okay because I totally nipped it in the BUD. Whatever. It was a sickness, y’all. Yes, a SICKNESS, so stop with the judging. (Judgers! Judgers!) But hello?… there was a Bop to the Top dancing tutorial! And they were all so CUTE! And the music was so CATCHY! Shut up! It’s true! It is! I don’t care!

And now I can’t even go see Nicholas Sparks’ latest movie featuring a misunderstood character with a dead lover, or amnesia, or an amnesiac lover that is dying, or whatever. I can’t do it. Not now. It’s just too upsetting.

Because this? Is so NOT the cute little Troy Bolton I remember. See?

(Bieber Hair Before It Was a Thing)

Nope. Not even a little bit.

Thanks for the cognitive dissonance, Nicholas Sparks! GOSH.

__________________________________________________

Breaking news:

Ohmygawsh! Warner Bros. thought it would be fun to create a flash app thingy that lets you put yourself in the poster for The Lucky One.

No, for real.

Honestly. Not helping, WB.

Because not only do I totally miss the interaction with my blogosphere friends (good times, those…), I NEED this space. I need this outlet!

I admit, I thought jumping into blogging again would be like riding a bike. No matter how many years pass, you just hop on and pedal like crazy, and ZOOOOM, off you go! A blur of blonde curls and pink pedal pushers, with sparkly iridescent ribbons streaming from the handlebars… You know, like that.

Turns out? Not so much.

I keep having these total blog-perfect moments, you know the ones, and they are screaming, “Blog me! Good LORD, what are you waiting for?!” and I’m like, “Okay! Maybe I will! Shut up now!” and they are all, “Fine, I will!” and I’m like, “Fine!” and then we kiss and make up because, honestly, it’s silly to fight with those moments because they are only trying to HELP.

But the moments pass and I can’t get them back because that’s what moments DO. They pass. They fade. I totally missed them, and since time travel is not yet possible, I’m going to take a stand and say this is not good.

So, like I said, I need Desperate Working Momma. Like, a LOT. So we need to put our differences behind us, my blog and I. Because while I don’t wish to be inscrutable, ofttimes I am exactly that.

For instance, when “things” are going on (you know the things, those sad or confusing or downright hurtful things?) and I am faced with two choices– to express myself in a direct manner or in a humorous, playful light– I inevitably choose to joke. It’s what I DO. I laugh, I joke, I play it off like it ain’t no thang, but it is TOO a thang–it is!–a whole big thang! Whether life brings me gifts of joy neatly wrapped with sparkly ribbons or bitch-slaps me and hands me bitter disappointment, I laugh and laugh and laugh. Then snort and laugh some more.

(ASIDE: I once said that my youngest has inherited this trait from me; she is the one who when she falls and hurts herself will more times than not jump up from the spill, all, “I’m all right! I’m okay! That kind of tickled, actually!” even though we all know it hurt her and there are tears welling up and she is just saying it didn’t hurt so everyone will leave her alone so she can escape and cry in peace. I think in a way we are trying to let the world know, “You can’t hurt me. Nothing can hurt me. I laugh at pain! Ha ha!”)

So I’m silly and whimsical and manic and almost always utterly tongue-in-cheek, and though I quite often express exactly what I am truly feeling, it is more often than not hidden away in evasive verbiage. Linguistic smoke and mirrors, if you will.

This can (and has) caused people to misunderstand what I am feeling, to doubt my sincerity, to think I am stronger or more resilient than I really am, and while it may sound counterintuitive, I’m starting to think that encouraging this impression may actually be worse then admitting I feel pain.

So (even though I know that poignancy and humor are not mutually exclusive) there are times I wish I could say what I really mean without resorting to silliness and feigned unconcern. To be starkly honest, to lay out my heart in words so clear you could actually feel it beating if only you listened closely enough, and then you would KNOW. You would feel me. Hear me.

Which brings me back to why I need Desperate Working Momma.

Because once upon a time it provided a genuine venue for me. Carefully woven into the haze of my sardonic humor, you could sometimes catch a true glimpse of my life–my family’s life–spilling out in my writing. If you were paying attention, of course, because truth? Is scary, y’all. Duh.

And honestly, I think there were times that my blog posts truly said something that was slow and thoughtful and sometimes even deeply affecting. Like Lost in Translation, without the icky Bill Murray May-December romance part. Because gross. And I need that honesty. I need people to see it. To know me. I think, maybe, I’m finally tired of hiding.

Okay, now I’m bringing it home.

Finally, there is this. The incredible, surprising thing I realized about blogging here is that capturing those moments and writing about them allowed me to enter imaginatively into my own life, as if it were someone else’s, and learn truth about myself, about my life, that I couldn’t– or wouldn’t– see before.

And my family and friends, looking in, sometimes experienced these rare “Ah-ha!” moments with me. And maybe–perhaps!–learned their own truth.

Which, neat, huh?

Hi, Cat!

Yes. I admit it has been a severe blow to my self-esteem to realize that I need HELP, y’all. I thought I had all of my projects under control. One can never juggle too many projects at once! Seriously! There’s absolutely nothing wrong with keeping busy, is all I’m saying! It’s GOOD to be productive! Right? Am I right?! RIGHT?!

Right?

In my defense, I don’t have a craft room or any place awesome like that where I can escape and just sew and knit and paint and Mod Podge like nobody’s business. Nope. So when I drag my old sewing machine out of its hiding spot in the cupboard, dust it off, and lug it to the craft table I only just broke out of storage, well, I’m going to get some things DONE, by golly! CRAFTY things! Because remembering how to thread the machine correctly so the thread doesn’t jam the needle up, and how to properly fill bobbins and whatnot is no picnic when you have accidentally totally misplaced your sewing machine manual and your machine is, like, fifteen years old and you can’t find the manual online– except for the one that might be the right one but they want you to PAY for it, which what the WHAT (?!) and no THANK you, because it’s the whole principle of the thing.

Just saying.

Honestly. I thought I could handle the knitted Christmas stockings, the Dot quilt, the Window Box quilt, the quilted Christmas stockings, the button monogram on canvas, the knitted Sweetheart socks, the Mod-Podged wooden “L”… AND the felt Advent Calendar!

*sigh*

I need help.

TGIM: Okay, okay, I’ll order some online today and we’ll get them in a week or so.

MACK: OMG! A week?! (Chandler Bing style) Oh my gosh!

TGIM: Calm down! Ain’t no thang.

CAT: Ain’t no thang, ain’t no thang… Bing bong and chickadees! Hee. “New Girl” is fuuuunny, guys.

TGIM: Just wear your glasses until they get here.

CAT: “I’m the only one who hasn’t seen it!” Seriously. Schmidt is HI-larious!

MACK: Fine. But whenever I wear my glasses to school, all my friends congratulate me for getting my nerd on.

CAT: Pee-pee and bubbles!

MACK: MOM.

CAT: Glasses. Nerd. I’m listening.

HANNAH: They’re all like “Rocking the nerd look, huh, Hannah?!”

TGIM: Heh.

MACK: Yah. That’s on you.

“I’m sorry, this is embarrassing, but I forgot your name,” she confessed. “All I can think is TGIM!”

Well. When I heard about this I was all “woo-hoo!” and proceeded to pat myself on the back. But not literally, as that would be weird, even for me. But there was pride, people! Serious pride! Because, you know, TGIM is all my creation and stuff. And this means it’s, like, officially a thing now! Right?! TGIM! You see? Do you?!

So obviously I took it as a compliment.

TGIM? Not so much.

I hate FarmVille. HATE! IT! Oh, ho ho, yes I DID just go there! Fiery passion? A thousand suns?! You know the drill.

Honestly. With its never-ending stream of Facebook updates– all the lost sheep and queen bees and stupid strawberry markets, which is not to even mention all the crazy talk about a bushel and a peck of baby corn and whatnot. It’s insanity! Sheer craziness! I mean, it’s no POKEMON, people! Good LORD! You can’t even battle other farmers or evolve your livestock into exciting new breeds of super strong livestock! That can FLY and stuff!

I mean, think about it. You’re essentially working a farm (key word being “working”) for fake money and experience points in your downtime (and don’t think we don’t notice those 4 AM status updates, weirdos). Working! During downtime! For no fiscal remuneration whatsoever. And you can’t even travel around FarmVille on your special flying Pikachu!

Well. That makes the kind of sense that… DOESN’T. I’m only saying.

(And if my kiddos happen to say I was up at 4 AM this morning downloading a special Mew Pokemon Mystery Gift to my DS from Nintendo Wi-Fi, well I WORK so I am up early anyway and they are totally lying, clearly, and I will punish them when I get home. You know. Because of the lying?)

Okay. All that said… c’mon, Mom. Admit it.

This? This right here?!

Well, it’s small moments such as this that make it all TOTALLY worth it.

*end of glass half-full moment*

Oh. Hey. It sounds dirty, but it’s NOT. Gosh.

Anyway, I’ve got TWO headlamps. And a red strobe-y bumper light thing. And two reflective vests! Which is not overkill at ALL! Because, honestly, my night run is going to be around 1:30 or 2:00 AM and smack in the middle of nowhere, so I want to make sure I’m WAY lit up, you know?

Again, that came out wrong.

I’m ready. That’s all I’m saying. Bring on the night run, Ragnar! That’s right. BRING it.

It’s last period and TGIM and I just totally ditched P.E. class!

I know, right?!

“MEMORY!” (end impromptu belting out of Memory from Cats…)

What the…?! Season 2 of The Vampire Diaries premiered last night?! Dude! At the risk of sounding geeky… okay, I’m PSYCHED.

At 1:15 p.m.:

OH. EM. GEE. Thank you, iTunes! Also, good LORD! That?! That was awesome.

Game on, indeed.

Except I’m foraging for spare change rather than carrots or shrubs. I mean, clearly. If I wanted to eat vegetation, I would have “remembered” to pack a salad! You know what I’m saying?! Am I right?! Am I? AM I RIGHT?!

Yep. Forgetting is no fun at all.

After attending a friend’s Bar Mitzvah, Tanner came home chock full of wild stories of crazy chair dances and professional DJs and AWESOMELY delicious food and, oh yeah, how much freaking MONEY his friend scored when he turned thirteen. Because money is a BIG DEAL. I mean, think! That is a WHOLE LOT of Pokemon! Am I right? Huh? Am I right?

Tanner’s sisters were (to put it mildly) super impressed, all “Nuh-uh! NUH-UH!” and “No FAIR!” And Alli? I can only imagine she’s been giving the matter of Bar Mitzvah’s tons of thought, as evidenced by a recent conversation.

Alli had been sitting in my room with me as I read, an unusual, pensive moodiness about her. Suddenly, she broke the silence. “You know, if Tanner were Jewish,” she said conversationally, “he’d be totally rich right now.”

Tanner overheard. “I know, right?” he replied.

Alli shrugged a little “Well That’s That” kind of shrug and lapsed back into her broody silence.

I looked at my youngest daughter with my “Really? That’s That?” kind of look, but she didn’t notice. She was lost in her thoughts, her brows deeply furrowed behind her glasses. And those thoughts? Those she was lost in? Were some seriously mercenary thoughts, it turns out.

“We need our own coming of age ceremony!” she burst out a few moments later.

Tanner perked up at that. Because, hello? Money? And professional DJs?! And chair dancing?! And MONEY?!

Noticing Tanner’s interest, Alli began to expatiate on her totally BRILLIANT idea. “We could call it a… a… a Har Litzfah!” she said, her eyes dreamy and distant, “And we would… um… tell jokes instead of reading scriptures! And people would give us MONEY for being FUNNY! Because HAR Litzvah?! Like har har har?!” She clapped her hands, reveling in her brilliance.

And I was all, “Ooooh! Pun SNAP!” and there was a giving and receiving of high-fives all around.

In other news, that inappropriate-yet-impossible-to-resist punning thing? Totally genetic.

(Har Litzfah. Good Lord.)

DWM Clan 2010

Smiling! Not crying!

I know, right?

Deal with my shallowness.

God bless America. And the Fallen Founding Fathers of the Freelance Fireworks Hall of Fame.

Amen.

CAT: Okay… Because that’s a completely normal thing to wonder.

ALLI: (shrugs) My mind is a mystery.

So, Alli? Not on board with the whole FLE thing.

The first afternoon she walked into the house with Hannah and TGIM and silently handed me a colorful packet that contained a few sample feminine hygiene products and brochures with titles like “A Girl’s Guide to HAPPY Periods” and “Talking With Your Daughter About Puberty” and “It’s a HAPPY Thing!”

“I’m supposed to ask you about your experience, you know, goingthroughpubertyandstuff,” she explained with a strained, almost shell-shocked expression on her face as she handed me an FLE checklist I needed to sign.

My first thought, naturally, was… it’s a HAPPY thing? Okay, I dare the author of that pamphlet to say that to a woman during a few key days every month! I’m only saying. Honestly.

TGIM, who was sitting across the room, asked, “Hey, did I ever tell you guys how Papa Neal taught me about sex?”

“YES!” we all yelled.

Undeterred, TGIM continued, “He said to me, ‘Son, have you seen the bulls with the cows out in the field?’ I said, ‘Yes, Dad,’ and he patted me on the back and said–”

“‘Good talk, son’!” we yelled in unison.

“Oh,” TGIM said, eyes wide with feigned innocence, “have I told that story before?”

Hannah, ignoring her father, asked, “So, did they make you yell ‘vagina’?” She rolled her eyes. “They made us yell ‘vagina’.”

“Yes,” Alli said and shuddered dramatically. “And penis, too. It was disturbing.”

I did my best to assure her that using those words should not be disturbing, that they are just words to describe parts of the body, like “mouth” or “knee” or “elbow,” but I must admit that the vision of a room full of fifth graders yelling “vagina” and “penis” over and over again was a bit disturbing. You know, just a scoche.

As the week went by, a pattern emerged. Alli would approach me after school and, with a deer-in-the-headlights expression, hand me yet another parent-child FLE conversation checklist to sign. I would gamely buzz through the questions, Alli would stare glassily ahead, I’d sign the checklist, and with a gusty sigh of relief Alli would shove it into her backpack and run off to play.

Friday afternoon Alli came home and told me that they had discussed making babies in FLE, which, first of all, gross, and second of all, GROSS. “I mean, the pictures, Momma? WAY too detailed. I get it! I did NOT need to see that!”

Hannah patted her on the back. “I know, right?” she agreed with sisterly camaraderie.

That night there were no more checklists. Yes! Happy day, FLE was behind us! We had made it through FLE relatively unscathed! Yay, us! So there we were, sitting on the bed in my room, just playing… a game, NOT Pokemon or anything, just a normal, age-appropriate, not-Pokemon game. The companionable silence of a mother and daughter sitting and playing said game which was not Poke– Okay! It was Pokemon! Soul Silver! FINE! Shut up!– was interrupted by a sudden revelation from Alli.

“Hey, Momma?”

I paused my game. “Hmm?” I looked over at her and I was immediately intrigued by her serious expression.

“You know what I’m going to do when I grow up?”

Oooh! Life choice! Fun! “What?” I asked, curious if she was still dead set on being an actress and/or astronaut.

“ADOPT.”

Not to even mention that sometimes, so surprised am I by the sudden, primal outburst or the sheer violence of expression that I unintentionally snort or giggle, and hey, I just do NOT appreciate being forced into behaving in such a juvenile manner. I’m only saying. So cut that crap out! Hee. I said “crap.” (See?! With the juvenile behavior?!) Just think of others before you go all Serena Williams while doing your business, okay?! GOSH.

Oh, to be clear, I am only referring to these types of outbursts in PUBLIC restrooms. What you grunt/groan while doing your business at home is totally, well… your business. Go crazy. Get down with your primal grunting self! Oh, except if you have house guests, obviously, in which case I would advise strongly against this type of behavior. Unless it is actually your intention to make said house guests SUPER uncomfortable. Then… ch-check! Mission accomplished! So you may want to rein it in– just a scoche!– when there’s company over. But otherwise, knock yourself out.

In other news, I am often peculiar and judgmental.

CHUCK! IS! BACK!

Yes! It is absolutely true. I mean, today is March 1, so, there you go. It IS March 1, right? RIGHT?!

Right.

I don’t want to come on too geeky, but… okay, I’m psyched!

Check it.

*happy dance*

In other news, your toupee looks as if it is trying to make a run for it. Let it go, man. Just… let it go.

Yes. I’ve heard the criticisms. But to me, this is a heartfelt remake of the original USA For Africa version, and for a selfless cause, to boot! Sure, they could have written/produced a new song, but hey, there’s a reason this one’s a classic. I’m only saying. Plus, the rap portion is pretty fantastic, and Wyclef Jean singing the song as translated into Creole? Beautiful.

(Although I do have to wonder how many people were like, “DUDE. What the hell does ‘hi-uh-tee’ mean?!” Because I am sometimes prone to strange and random wonderings?)

As a side note, I will admit, the posthumous Michael Jackson tribute almost turned me off– due to the Singing Along With Video Footage Of Dead People Totally Gives Me The Wiggins factor? which is MY issue, clearly!– but I decided I liked the inclusion after I overheard TD explaining to TGIM how seamlessly they were able to incorporate MJ’s part: “Yeah, see, they had some lady dressed up to LOOK like Michael Jackson, and she sang with him.”

Poor Janet.

In any event, my kids were moved by the video, especially the footage from Haiti, so I bought the album at iTunes. I figure it’s just one more little way we can give hope to the people of Haiti, and to the world.

Think about it.

TGIM: Okay, while we’re waiting for our food, let’s talk about something. How about taxes? Who can tell me a situation in which you would have to pay taxes?

Allison: Thanks for the strawberry, T! (to me) Oooh, I bet that’s what his girlfriend will call him… “T”! Because it’s a really good nickname?

Tanner: Well, she wouldn’t be my girlfriend for long.

Cat: Really? Why not, T? Huh, T? What’s the big deal, T? Huh, T? Huh? T?

Allison: I hope our drinks come soon. I’m quenched!

Hannah: Tanner with a girlfriend? Ha.

TGIM: Nobody? All right, maybe a different topic. How about the weather? We could discuss the weather. Or global warming?

Cat: Sweetie, I think you meant to say “parched.”

Allison: No, because I’m REALLY thirsty, Momma.

TGIM: Fact: There is currently snow in every state in the U.S.

Hannah: Tanner is my big, strong potato man!

(giggles from the girls)

Cat: Um, what?

Allison: It’s an inside joke. Ha ha! (off my look) Oh, don’t worry, Momma… it’s VERY funny to us!

TGIM: Except possibly Hawaii. Okay, every state in the continental U.S.

Tanner: Those stone faces on the wall are freaking me out. Are the faces on the wall freaking you out? Because they are freaking me out.

Cat: Hey! Stop drinking all my Diet Coke! Who’s drinking my Diet Coke?! Stop it right now!

Hannah: Wow! This cheesecake is GOOD! I feel happy! I love this place!

TGIM: (paying the bill) Well, guys, there goes our food budget for the week! Yep, it looks like we’ll be eating a lot of beans and rice for a while.

Allison: No, because it’s Friday night, and Sunday is the start of a new week, so… I think we’re good, right, Momma? I mean, we’ll just shop for good food on Sunday, right? So… you know what I’m saying?

TGIM: (standing to leave) I know, let’s talk about this new show I discovered called Mantracker…

Hannah: Is that the one with the guy with the rope?

Allison: Oh yeah! Mantracker! I was very disappointed that he didn’t rope that guy.

TGIM: Me, too.

Cat: I have no idea what you guys are talking about.

Tanner: The macaroni and cheese here is NOT good. I’m just saying.

Yep. A night out with the DWM family! Chock full of food, and fun, and non sequiturs. And quite often, just a little bit surreal.

My Buddy Boy

Hannah Hugging TGIM

Cat's Chin and Allison

Seriously. The Federal Government in DC is shut down– closed for bidness, y’all!– and you would think that I would be totally enjoying the fact that I am free– albeit stuck at home, but still, free– for who knows how long, but NO. Instead, I feel, I don’t know, well… guilty. I know, right?! About what, you may ask? I don’t even know, I might answer! It’s craziness! Sheer craziness! Honestly. What’s with all the guilt?! I mean, it isn’t MY fault the U.S. Office of Personnel Management opted to close down all Federal agencies in the Washington DC area. It’s not!

That’s it. I’m jumping aboard the happy, carefree, snow day(s) train, starting right now. Feeling good. Enjoying the blizzard. Choo-choo!

Freak. And there’s the guilt again.

In order to alleviate said guilt, I will now post something of value on DWM. A Flickr slideshow of Photos Past, if you will. Because that is PRODUCTIVE.

Anyway, photos from the past. Back when my kiddos were all cute and pre-preteen and babylike and whatnot.

And I mean this… aaaaaaw! (Thanks to TGIM for the scans. You = Awesome.)