In the Nick of Time

Laugh at me if you want to, but I'm just now getting my Christmas cards out in spite of the fact that I ordered them before Thanksgiving. It's usually the last thing I do to get ready for Christmas, because the entire month is generally just a panicky whirlwind of "Oh crap, I still have to do this or that thing that I forgot about!"

I'm guessing you can relate.

I always put the card off because it involves writing a yearly letter which generally takes a couple hours to write--about as much time as it takes to write a post for this here blog which, as you can see, has been neglected these last few months.

If you loathe the yearly Christmas letter I won't be offended if you click on out of here, but I promise if you stick around you'll probably read a thing or two that I haven't had the time to post about on the blog.

I should probably say that in my yearly letter I always force myself to refer to Peanut Head by his given name, Clark, since to his family that is his name. Weird as it is. However, to me, as to you, he is Peanut Head, so I've used his rightfully earned name as well as Stink-a-Tink's for your reading comfort and so my right eye will stop twitching violently.

Without further ado, here's the verbiage . . .

Dear Family and Friends,                                  December 2012

Another year has come and nearly gone, so here I sit on my couch having taken a personal day off in an attempt to get this letter out before August. It's good to have goals.

So much has happened here, it's hard to know where to begin, so I'll resort to my usual format to make sure I hit the highlights for each of us.

The girls continue to grow and change. Zoe is 11, in sixth grade and in her last year of elementary school. It hardly seems possible. She is still dependable and conscientious, and as sweet as ever in spite of the frequent moodiness and irrational meltdowns that come with her age. It seems that she is securely entrenched in puberty and all the awkward pleasantness that comes with it. She tends toward the dramatic anyway, but can I tell you how much fun we've been having with her up in here? So much fun. Let's share the fun, shall we? During a recent meltdown Peanut Head calmly sat Zoe down to explain her up and down moods. "Zoe, you should know that you are going through a lot of changes right now, and in the spring you are going to feel a need to start frolicking with the butterflies. Don't be alarmed though, it's just your inner werebutterfly trying to get out." That got Peanut Head a smile and a big punch in the arm, as they watch their fair share of werewolf and vampire movies together.

In April, Zoe scared us all with a mysterious pain that landed her in the hospital. What I was afraid was going to end up being just a bout of very expensive flatulence actually turned out to require surgery to remove her perfectly normal appendix and what the surgeon called a decaying "accessory ovary," but we jokingly refer to as "her absorbed twin."

Zoe took up the violin this fall, so the screechy new sounds of a practicing beginner quite nicely match her awkward age. She also started swimming with the middle school swim team and is really enjoying all the time in the water.

Both girls recently started taking horseback riding lessons. I put it off long enough, hoping the passion for all things horse would wither and die. No such luck, so in October I started searching for a place where they could casually take lessons. I started my inquiry process with "The Barn," because I liked the name and they taught Western riding. The only other place in town is the "Equestrian Center" which teaches English riding, and not to be snotty, but it sounds very fancy to me, and we're not a fancy people. Well, Zoe is, we're not. Sadly, "The Barn" was full up so it was the fancy place or nothing. I have to admit, I don't regret the decision as the girls are learning so much and having more fun than I've ever seen them have. They look forward to their Monday lessons and are constantly moaning "I wish it was Monday noooow." Now that's just not right. No one likes Monday. Zoe has been riding a big white horse named "Jupiter," and she would scold me right now for not giving his proper breed and color name, but I know that it is a white horse and you probably don't really care what kind it is anyway. The Equestrian Center was fresh out of mules, so Stinkerbell is bee-bopping around on a cute little Shetland Pony named Doodles. See I know a horse breed. There's no one else around small enough to ride him, so she is charged with the task of exercising him until she becomes too gangly for him to haul her gnarly carcass around. I giggle every time I see her riding him because they bounce-bounce-bounce around the arena, Doodles' fluffy white bangs (mane, whatever) bouncing in his eyes, Stinkerbell bounce-bounce-bouncing atop him with the biggest grin plastered on her face. One time she tried to squeeze him through too tight of a spot at top speed and he abruptly stopped, dug in, and sent her sailing, limbs flailing, over his head. Now this is one smart little horsey because he had the brains to look ashamed of himself. I love his sweet little heart, and I'm not even a horsey person.

Stinkerbell is 9 now and in fourth grade. She is still very much a tomboy. Yesterday we were talking about how we were going to spend our Christmas vacation and she informed us, "My idea of a perfect day is getting up and putting on sweatpants with no underwear and then spending the day shopping at Toys-R-Us." Sadly we are still doing the daily underwear checks on the way out the door. In other news, she took up wrestling early this year, and just finished her second season. Her first season she got her butt kicked a lot. Most of the boys could care less that she's a girl and they wiped the mat with her. At first. There were a lot of bruises and skin burns, but she's turning it around and starting to kick some boy butt at least as much as she gets her butt kicked by them. She's a scrappy little thing. It thrills a mother's heart and makes her Daddy puff up with pride. Both of them wear their wrestling hoodies everywhere they go, and I have to threaten them to put the things in the laundry. Wrestling is over for this year though, and Stinkerbell is about to try her hand at basketball. She's a little short, but what she lacks in height she makes up for in spunk. Plus she has all those wrestler muscles now and if someone could just lift her up to the hoop, she could hang there for an impressive length of time.

Peanut Head is still at the lab and every year I write that, I marvel that we can still say so, and I am so incredibly thankful that he still has a good job. Even if it may only last for another minute. He's always learning new things and expanding his skill set, so I think they would be crazy to let him go, but it's the government, they don't have to make rational decisions. Did I just say that out loud? Peanut Head still enjoys tinkering with guns, and if it's a nice day, you can be sure to find him at the range.

After several tortuous months studying for the Math PRAXIS, I became certified to teach math in Idaho as well as California. For the life of me, I don't understand why one state's certification is not good enough for another. Especially considering Idaho's lack of emphasis on education. Anyway, I moved to the middle school with the new school year and I'm enjoying teaching just math now. Although the new age demographic has taken some adjustment on my part, and it has been a difficult and stressful transition, I think I've got it figured out now, and I'm really starting to enjoy it. Well, as much as you can enjoy a job anyway. I'd still prefer to stay at home and eat bon bons all day, but this is reality and I'm in it.

We had some new additions this year with chickens and all of their accompanying chicken poop. We started with four sweet little baby chicks in May, and they quickly grew into creepy looking chickens that poop everywhere, kick up more dirt than our very skilled dirt throwing dog, and best of all, deliver fresh chicken eggs. We have eggs coming out of our ears now, and Stinkerbell has quite impressively learned how to cook fried eggs on demand. It's awesome. At first we didn't let Gunny out with the chickens on account of he lacks impulse control. However, with winter settling in, I'm ashamed to admit that it wouldn't be so horrible to have one less chicken's poop to clean up, even if it isn't my job, and I let the dog out to see what he could do. Ahem, would do. Well, he sniffed around and he goosed a couple of them, but then they turned right around and let him have it. And now they live in harmony, ignoring each other and pooping everywhere. All of them. The end.

The cats are still fat and happy, as are we, and life is good. We are thankful to be together, happy, and healthy, and we wish the same for you and your family. Have a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Love,

Peanut Head, Jill, Zoe Bug, and Stinkerbell

And that's it. It's super long, I know, but I had a lot to share this year and moderation is something I struggle with. Who am I kidding? I don't struggle with it, I just don't exercise it much.

I should probably confess that originally I didn't even have Zoe's horse's color right and I said he was brown. She proofread the letter for me and she also informed me of the correct name for a horse's bangs but it done left my head already. Google it if you're dying to know. I'm not.

I'm happy to report that I'm settling into my job much better now, and I'm feeling less stressed and like I can get back to being creative again. That means you should be seeing more posts from me. Not anything crazy like multiple times a week, but the goal is that there won't be weeks without posts like you've been seeing. For that I apologize, but I know I really couldn't have done any better given my state of mind. When I'm stressed I have no brain space to accommodate creativity and I just go into survival mode.

Before the month is out I have a post planned for The Year of the Chicken and another post giving you the low down on the ridiculous amount of baking ingredients we've used since Thanksgiving--complete with a spread sheet that is guaranteed to have Peanut Head and I committed for baking excess.

Stick around, I'll be back . . .

Christmas Cards? Check.

Early last month, we had our family pictures taken for the first time in seven years. I know. I can't believe it's been that long either.

It's just that I kept putting it off because, "Dang It, I'm still fat."

In the meantime gravity is also blessing me with her gifts and I have jowls as well.

For years I've been putting just the girls' pictures on our Christmas cards. Well not this year. With Zoe Bug going to turn twelve next summer, she'll be off to college next fall and that's it. She'll never come home again.

Therefore, I'm going to have a proper Christmas card this year, jowls be danged.

Stationery card

View the entire collection of cards.

Here it is. I just made it on Shutterfly, so it looks like I might actually get my Christmas cards out this year before Christmas. And not next August like that one time.

I usually design my own cards but this year I can't be bothered with that. I'm on vacation this week, and that would put a crimp in my sleeping in until 10:30 a.m. schedule.

No lie. I'm doing it.

My friend, GaeLyn, took these pictures. She has a real Big Girl Camera that I wouldn't have a clue how to use. She was so patient with us, and she took a lot of time getting oodles of poses.

Some of the poses were super uncomfortable too.

Like this one.

That's a pained smile you see there on my face.  My ample behind was perched on a pointy rock with a vertically tipped summit. I was holding my knees up while attempting to balance, all the while sliding down the summit.

It's not a good look.

Frankly, I'm just thankful I didn't fart. That's how tense I was.

Oh Stinkerbell. You know how when you're having a professional take pictures of your kids and you want them to cooperate and act like they really weren't raised by wolves, but all they can manage is their Constipation Face? Then you start whisper yelling through gritted teeth, "Relax and SMILE, or I will ground you when we get home."

And then they either don't believe you or they just don't care.

My kids just don't care.

Frankly, I'm just glad the whole ordeal is over with. Although I would have loved to have GaeLyn run some PhotoShop Magic on my frame, I didn't dare ask because I've learned the hard way that you have to be careful what you ask for.

When I had my picture taken for my ID Badge at school I jokingly asked the Badge Dude to clean up my extra chinnage before slapping it on my ID. He was a Mean Little Man, because I got my badge back and he clearly put my picture through the Fun House Mirror function and stretched my head out like a Gourd Gone Wild. Or Mrs. Peanut Head, take your pick.

Caramel, Bugs, and Livestock

I know, crazy post title, right? It just came to me as I was uploading the pictures from my phone. It pretty much sums up the pictures I was seeing and am now going to share with you.

It's your lucky day.

So first, the caramel.

I love it. Especially this time of year. It's been at least a couple years since I've made Caramel Apples, and I really had a hankering for it this last weekend.

Plus, Mattie Cake loves caramel and a little voice was telling me that I needed to make some caramel for her. I don't always listen to the voices in my head, but when they tell me to make caramel, I take them seriously.

Only I was too lazy to actually wrestle pointy sticks into the apples and dip them into the caramel, so I took the cheater route and put the caramel in cute jars.

In all honesty, who really loves to eat a caramel apple anyway? There is just no delicate way to do it. You have to open your mouth Orca wide and take unattractive bites while caramel and drool slide down your chin. And with camera phones and Facebook around, it's just not a good idea to take that chance.

Especially if you are planning to run for President like myself. Yes, I'm a write-in candidate. Please vote for me. I have no idea how to run a country, but how hard can it be, right?

Bugs. This is Willard Scott. Actually, that's probably not his real name. It just now popped into my head and I really like it. Willard and I met at a math conference in Boise earlier this month. In this picture my teammate is tying a harness to Willard so that he can pull many pennies far exceeding his weight across our speedway of paper towels.

You have to be ever so careful when tying the harness, so as not to burst Willard like an unfortunate can of exuberant biscuits, thereby eviscerating his bugliness.

And I can guarantee you, he will not win the race for you if you do that.

I so wanted to touch Willard, to prove to myself that I was brave, but every time I reached for him it sent my body aquiver with Willies. Have you ever had a Willy? Willies are most unpleasant.

Willard is some kind of super bug and was able to pull more than 1,000 times his weight.

But Willard does not brag. He is a modest bug, and wants only to bury his head in a pile of rotting leaves.

I can relate. About the rotting leaves, not the modesty thing.

Livestock.

Groan. We have too many eggs from our too many chickens. I'm having flash backs from the time I decided to plant a garden, and I planted twelve zucchini plants just in case some of them didn't make it.

Anyone that's ever planted zucchini knows that they always make it, and one plant is enough to scare all your neighbors into ignoring your knock of zucchini blessings.

So, remember we have four chickens. We thought perhaps we had one rooster because, while they are all creepy looking to the nth degree, one of our chickens was looking especially masculine with extra large fleshy bits around his creepy chicken head.

Well, the egg laying got going pretty fast and all of a sudden we were getting four eggs a day. Four chickens. Four eggs. Um, it seems that the Maybe Rooster is perhaps just a very Butch Hen.

I don't really know how all this chicken stuff works, so I'm just going to assume that's what we have going on. 

Completely unrelated to the caramel, bugs, and livestock, Zoe Bug has started playing the violin. It's a very painfully awkward time, this new to music time with a screechy instrument. Her skills amaze, and she is able to clear vast rooms of people with one carefree swipe of her bow hand.

This picture has no point except that it makes me happy. My kids. Doing dishes that I now do not have to do. Bliss and contentment abound.

Another picture that's not like the others, but it reminds me of a beautiful day at the end of September when my little family ran a 5K together and nobody vomited. Good times.

Last picture. I just took this one today and it makes me giggle because it reminds me of the first year my girlies went to horse camp and Stinkerbell was assigned so very appropriately to a mule.

I should explain how this picture came about. Well, I know I've told you that my girlies love horses and that we have approximately 18,523 plastic horsies in our basement. You would think, most excellent parent that I am, that by now I might have enrolled my girls in some sort of regular horsey pursuits, right?

Wrong. As a parent, I suck. Yes, I also suck at the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, and Santa. Surely I'll soon find something that I'm good at.

Anyway, earlier this month I finally signed my girlies up for horse lessons. Today was their third lesson and they think I'm the Best Mom Ever. I arrived at the end of the lesson to pick them up, and Stinkerbell was trotting around the arena, no lie, trotting, on this cute little toy horse. He was adorable, all fluffy and bouncy, and she was just bounce-bounce-bouncing atop his cute little furry back with the biggest grin on her face. He is very appropriately named Doodles, and I think he is just Oodles of Adorable.

And there you have it, my pointless post of random. I've been scarce on this blog lately, and I assure you that I have not forgotten about it. I'm just struggling through a stressful period of time with beginning a new job. With all it's accompanying newness, it's hard for a person as controlling as myself when there are not enough hours in the day for all of the controlling that I want to be doing. I need to let go a bit, and perhaps do some Yoga. That sounds Heavenly to me right now.

So bear with me. It will get better.

Thank you to everyone that's still coming back, and thank you to the sweet boy in the hall the other day, a stranger to me, who came up to me and said "Hi Mrs. Scott. My mom follows your blog." I had to restrain myself from grabbing that child and hugging him on a day that I so needed to hear something nice. Thank you to his mom, whoever you are. He made my day.

Chore Charts Revisited. Yes, Again.

I know. You would think that I would have this chore thing nailed by now, but truth be told it's a thorn in my side. A big. Massive. Thorn.

The problem is that my kids don't listen to me. I'm always talking, talking, talking, and it's as if my voice is on mute.

What's wrong with my kids that they don't love to do the chores on their super cute chore charts? I love checking things off my list, it's the best feeling ev-AH, so what's wrong with my kids?

Maybe the chore charts aren't pretty enough? Maybe they're tired of the tokens? Maybe I need to be more enthusiastic? Maybe I don't pay them enough?

Maybe my kids are brats?

Whatever the reason, I'm always changing up the girls' chore system, trying to find that one magic bullet that will solve all my problems.

The truth is, I don't think there is one perfect system that will always work. I think most things work for awhile. And then one day they don't.

It sucks.

Either way, here I am again. Changing it up.

This new system is pretty basic. I just created lists in Microsoft Excel and printed each day on a different color of card stock. The idea is that by having each day on its own card, the list isn't overwhelming, and the girls will be able to get through them quickly.

In theory.

Maybe not so true for Miss Dawdle Pants, aka Stinkerbell.

The little snot who put the grouchy face next to "Help Mom Clean House." Which, by the way, was my sneaky way of putting 6,042 check list items on one line.

I think she knows.

Heh, heh, heh. You will never be done with your chores. Nev-AH!

The chore cards hang by magnetic hooks on the refrigerator. I can always tell whether the girls have done their chores or not by which day is showing. All it takes is one look, and if the chore card hasn't been flipped, I know they haven't done them.

The funny thing is that they have no idea that's how I know whether they've been done. My kids are so naive, they think I have cameras mounted in every room of the house and that I'm spying on them.

I like it that way, so I don't deny it.

Please don't rat me out. They don't read my blog, so as long as I can trust you, we're good.

This is Zoe Bug making breakfast for us last weekend. Peanut Head taught her how to make pancakes, and they're quite delicious.

I could get used to this.

Chicken Run

I do believe it's time for a chicken update. It was May when last I introduced you to our new friends and their cute, fuzzy chicky faces. Clearly much has changed.

Now they can only be called cute if you qualify your definition with "in a Creepy Chicken sort of way."

They are very creepy with their beady little angry eyes, blobs of extraneous flesh glomped onto their faces, and their jerky bobble heads.

All that creepiness aside, I do quite enjoy them.

They were game for chicken races many evenings over the summer. Ha, ha, game. Get it?

Never mind.

The girls and I held the chicken races at dusk on lazy summer evenings. We would start by catching ourselves a chicken . . . half the battle was catching the chickens. Once each of us had a chicken, we we would release them at the starting line, and whichever chicken made it back to the coop first was the winner. 

Even though we have four chickens, Peanut Head never joined in any of our Chicken Games.

He's much too classy for such chicanery.

In spite of the forced racing, the chickens had a peaceful summer in their backyard chicken coop, coming out to free range in the evenings while Gunny Man was locked away inside the house. 

Gunny Man has self control issues.

The cats were very interested in the chickens before they got creepy looking. After that, they just kept their distance. 

One evening I caught Jo Jo stalking a chicken at the back door. The chickens like to hang out on the back porch and poop all over it, why, I have no idea. Perhaps it's Chicken Art. Anyway, Jo Jo looked like she wanted a closer look, so I picked her up, opened the door, and flung her out to the birds. Just like that.

She slightly freaked out, but only for a moment. After that moment passed, she regained her kitty composure and started stalking the chicken like a proper cat.

Well that was a bad idea, because Mr. Creepy Chicken turned around and chased that cat right out of the yard. I think I peed my pants, I was laughing so hard.

Jo Jo doesn't gaze at the chickens from the back door anymore. At least not when I'm around.

She has trust issues.

Chicken Butt.

It's like a photo bomb, but it's a chicken butt.

Triple Chicken Butt. Super obnoxious.

This blog is going so down hill.

 

We got our first eggs from our fine feathered friends this past week. Their little eggs are so adorable next to our from-the-store extra large eggs.

Um . . . one of these things is not like the others. 

Peanut Head read on the internet that chickens need to be trained to lay their eggs in the nesting boxes and not where they poop. Which is, obviously, everywhere. So, apparently golf balls are going to trick them into not pooping in their nesting boxes.

Because chickens are so stoooooopid.

Peanut Head has been waiting for this day for a long time. I almost feel sorry for the could-have-been chicken babies. Sniff.

Snarf.

Dove Conditioner Review

I don't think I've ever done a review for a product before, but when BlogHer contacted me about reviewing a Dove hair care product, I jumped at the chance. You see, I don't have good hair.

Then you factor in genes working in the nasty way they have of gifting unpleasant traits to unwilling and unfortunate recipients, and it's not surprising that Zoe Bug also inherited my lifeless straw-like hair. So sorry, Babe.

Stinkerbell, however, was switched at birth and got all the looks from somebody's family, and the only good hair. She has the Fabio-Shake-It-and-Let-it-Fall-Into-Perfect-Place hair. It's disgusting.

And it's wasted on her because she's not the least bit girly and has to be threatened to even wash and condition her hair, let alone comb it.

The nerve.

Before I signed up to do this review I made sure both girls were on board to help me test it out. I sat them down and I said, mainly to the Stink because Zoe does whatever I tell her to do, "If we're going to do this right, all of us have to wash our hair and use the conditioner for at least a week, FOR REAL.  Who's in?"

Since I put it that way, both girls were excited to get started. So we did, and this is what we thought.

We love it! We tested the Dove Nutritive Therapy Nourishing Oil Care Conditioner. Wow, that was a mouthful.

Seriously though, it left our hair super easy to comb through, and when it dried, our hair felt downright silky. Maybe I should emphasize that a little more. It made Zoe's and my straw-like hair silky. No. Lie.

I'd tell you that Peanut Head couldn't keep his hands out of my hair since I've been using this stuff, but I don't want to exaggerate. It's not my style.

Plus you might vomit.

The nifty part about all this for you, is that you have the opportunity to enter the Dove Sweepstakes for a $1,000 Spafinder gift card. I wonder if I can enter this Sweepstakes too? That sounds really good. Probably I can't, so you should do it so I can live vicariously through you.

You need to follow the link below and answer the following question that I just made up. 

If you win the Spa Finder gift card, what services would you want available to you?

Feel free to make stuff up. I think spas need to hear about the things that really relax us. Like while I'm getting a massage, I want a team of Maintenance Engineers at my house, cleaning it from top to bottom. That's going to help me really enjoy a massage.

Oh yeah, there's also a link to get a $1.50 off Dove coupon so you can try this conditioner out for yourself. Go ahead, you won't be sorry.

Enter to win a $1,000 Spafinder gift certificate!

NO PURCHASE NECESSARY

COMMENTS TO THIS POST ARE NOT SWEEPSTAKES ENTRIES. PLEASE SEE BELOW FOR ENTRY METHODS FOR THIS SWEEPSTAKES.

You may receive (2) total entries by selecting from the following entry methods:

a) Follow this link, and provide your email address and your response to the Promotion prompt

b) Tweet (public message) about this promotion; including exactly the following unique term in your tweet message: "#SweepstakesEntry"; and then visit this link to provide your email address and the URL to that Tweet.

c) Blog about this promotion, including a disclosure that you are receiving a sweepstakes entry in exchange for writing the blog post, and then visit this link to provide your email address and the URL to that post.

This giveaway is open to US Residents age 18 or older. Winners will be selected via random draw, and will be notified by e-mail. Winners will have 72 hours to claim the prize, or an alternative winner will be selected.

The Official Rules are available here.

This sweepstakes runs from 9/4/2012 - 9/30/2012

Be sure to visit Dove^®Hair.com to get a coupon for $1.50 off Dove Hair Therapy products.

Pottery Barn Reject

I used to really, really care what my kids' bedrooms looked like. As in everything was in its place, the bedding coordinated with the room decor, blah, blah, blah.

Clearly I have moved on, because this is what my kids' rooms look like now. I keep threatening to call Hoarders to come and shoot an episode in Zoe's room. It's that bad. 

I say that I used to care, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me twitchy. The problem is that I'm too exhausted to make myself care enough to do anything about it.

As in I need to sit in the room with my child and walk her through the decision making process.

In other words, be a parent.

I'm not normally one to shirk my duties, but I cannot deny that I have let this one slide. Imagine my surprise yesterday when both girls started moving furniture around and cleaning their rooms without me standing in the doorway yelling at them to "Pick this crap up!"

It was kind of like the whole potty training fiasco wherein I gave up and the second child had to potty train herself. I suck.

I do try, but my time is limited and I have ADD. Yes, I just diagnosed myself, but "SQUIRREL!"

If you've been visiting me for any length of time, you know I tend to jump around.

Like now. Changing the subject.

So, I've learned some things about middle schoolers that I had forgotten. Here's my running list.

1. Don't ever say "hi" to a middle school student in the hallway and acknowledge them by name. It is soooooo uncool to talk to teachers, and they will likely not acknowledge you. It's early in the year yet, but later on when I get to know them a little bit, I might select one lucky student to approach and say "How's my little Snooky Wookums?" Although super fun for me, it would be social death for a child in that awkward stage of life.

2. Many of the students get to school before I do, and I'm generally there an hour before school starts. They just cannot wait to get to their lockers and be seen loitering and looking nonchalant and bored. I laugh inside so as not to embarrass them, but the truth is that I remember what it's like to be that age and I commiserate with them.

3. It is physically impossible to make it from the gym to the faculty restroom, and finally to my room in one passing period. In a middle-age woman's body. I kid, but I have relented, and I now allow students to use the restroom as long as they follow my very strict Potty Pass Protocol. They must promise not to take my excellent hall pass into a stall or set it anywhere near a urinal, and they must wash their hands before retrieving it. They all want to know what to do if someone steals the pass, but I have assured them that the pass is too obnoxious and obtrusive to steal. They are very worried about this.

That's it for now. My brain is fried.

I leave you with this charming picture of Gunny Man.

My unsupervised and rampantly running wild children have figured out that they can dress the poor dog up in their clothes. I think he looks like Snoop Dog in this picture. Oh, excuse me, Snoop Lion.

It's Prince and the Unnameable Symbol all over again, isn't it?