Halloween School Day: Johnson-Style

Among the little girls in Pre-K, there were princesses, princesses, princesses, fairies, super heroes, and...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

A DONUT!

Never, in all of your days, have you seen

a girl more proud of her costume choice.

The first graders didn't wear costumes to school. They wore Halloween shirts. And, let me tell you, it's really hard to find "boy" t-shirts that are less in the "creepy and occult" arena:*

and more in the "cute pumpkin and cartoon bat" genre:

(He's so much more interested in showing

his Wolverine claw than his t-shirt.)

Finally, I tried to be cutsie with Spencer's snack bag, since today at school is all about the Halloween fun. But, when decorating your son's snack bag, you should A) make your vampire look like a vampire and not a snake and B) SPELL HIS NAME CORRECTLY.

Needless to say, this was the first attempt.

*Yeah. Yeah. Be quiet. I can try to keep him my sweet little baby boy just a while longer. I'm sure I'll be buying my fair share of creepy Halloween shirts before it's all said and done. At least glow-in-the-dark still works to my benefit... at the moment...

Where Do I Get Matching His and Hers Leotards?

You all know Shawn is a crime-fighter.

Well, I am, too. Kinda.

Remember how, through a bizarre change of events and cancelled plans, we were able to make it to our friends' annual Halloween party? Well, I haven't told you of my behavior while there. (There really was little doubt that there was a story, was there?!)

My friend (who shall forever remain nameless in the telling of this story*) and I were on the dance floor. We were facing the same direction; I was in front of her. We both fell forward. (Yes. I am glossing over the details of how we got in that position.) As we fell toward the ground, self-preservation (or face-preservation?) caused me to throw my head back - right into her face. Her nose, to be more specific. It was a reverse head-butt. Oddly, the most damage came from the clip that was holding my hair. It took a chunk out of her nose. She has a black-eye to go with it, too.

I'm a menace. I mean. Bad-ass.

Now I just need to learn to harness my power and only use it against bad guys (as opposed to my friends/innocent victims). Then... Shawn and I? Will be an unstoppable crime-fighting duo.

*But, if you know me in real-life, just look for my black-eyed, swollen-nosed friend. You'll figure it out.

Turning Over a New, Imperfect Leaf (Shut Up. It USED to be Perfect. Yes It Did.)

I'm tired. I try to post every weekday.

Lately. Life is busy. Busy. Busy. Good! But, busy.

So, I sit here at 11:45pm trying to get Wednesday's post in before it's too late. And, my eyes droop. And, my thoughts? Not coherent.

No post today.

So, sue me. I'm not perfect.*

*I just heard somewhere that you do children a disservice by allowing them to believe you're perfect. Then they think anything short of perfection is failure. So, see? I'm helping my children know that you don't have to be perfect to be worthwhile. (Not that I would let them read this blog... See? Thoughts. Not coherent.) Anyway... I'm going to take some coins back out of the therapy fund - and I'm going to buy myself something pretty. As a reward for being imperfect.

Life Debt

I was five. She was seven. We lived on the Marine Corp base in Quantico, Virginia. The buildings were each four stories tall with two apartments on each floor. But, they were built on a slope, so our first floor apartment was three stories up from the back alley/driveway.

The apartments on base had all been given a fresh coat of paint at the beginning of summer*. But, most of the screens had only been set back in place - not latched. Sadly, that fact was discovered when a little girl two buildings down from us fell out of her apartment window to the driveway below. She was in a body cast for the entire summer. I can still see her mom and her twin sister pulling her to the park in a red wagon with her casts propped on pillows.

Our mom told us to stay away from the windows until she and my dad had time to check the screens. As warnings often are with children, that particular one was met with our solemn agreement... and promptly forgotten.

The same day, a babysitter was watching us.** We went into our bedroom to play. Brandy sat down in the chair at the desk... in front of the window. I climbed up on the desk. I sat in front of her, facing her with my legs stretched out straight. I leaned against the screen of the open window. And, it popped out from behind me. (Even as I type this, my hands sweat.)

My brain remembers the next moments in slow motion. I fell out of the window. I felt my body sliding off of the desk. I felt my back pressed against the bricks on the outside of the building. With my head upside-down, I watched the screen fall three stories to the ground. I watched it bounce on the pavement below. And, I felt Brandy's hands holding my feet.

Her little seven-year-old brain knew she needed to grab my feet "or [I] would die." My little five-year-old brain thought, "I hope she's not mad at me, 'cause I really want her to pull me back in." And, then I felt myself sliding back across the desk as she pulled me in the window by my stocking feet.

We reacted to the events that had just transpired as any self-respecting child would - we tried to figure out how to keep ourselves out of trouble. After all, we had gone near the window when we'd been told not to. So, we ran down to the driveway, retrieved the screen and hid it in the garage. We swore to each other that we would never tell what had happened.

That lasted until our mom got home and Brandy sang like a canary. I guess her age advantage gave her enough perspective to realize the seriousness of what had happened. Me? I was just amazed we didn't get in trouble - even though the screen was bent! (We did get hugged a lot, though. ;)

Anyway, this week the kids in our Sunday School class informed me that I owe my sister a "Life Debt."

A life debt is a cultural phenomenon in which someone whose life is saved or spared by another becomes indebted or in some way connected to their savior. A life debt sometimes involves servitude, possibly until the indebted can return the favor. It may involve some spiritual or mystical connection between the two. -Wikipedia

Sorry, Bran. We're going to have to stick with the "spiritual or mystical connection." I've got way too much going on to add "servitude" to my list of responsibilities. Love you, though. And, thanks again for saving my life.

I don't know exactly what year this was, but it's probably

pretty close. At least those look like 1979 clothes!

P.S.  I have a seven-year-old. I firmly believe a seven-year-old could only react that quickly (and hold on to the feet in the socks instead of just coming away holding socks) with the help of an angel.

P.P.S.  I'm scared of heights. Or more specifically, I'm scared of falling from heights. Surprised?



*In varifying these facts with my mom, it seems my recollection of the time of year may be inaccurate. My mom seems to believe (and let's be honest, she was the adult in this situation - so, she's probably right) that this was all early fall. I remember warm weather and broken girls being pulled to the park in wagons. I thought it was summer. Please allow a little leniency for the recollections of a five-year-old.

**What a terrible babysitter!

How did we end up here?!

By twists and turns and happenstance, Elizabeth, my mom and I spent Friday night here:

It's officially a little cabin in the woods.

And, this is how it happened: Shawn and I were supposed to go to Austin this weekend. Boy Scout camp turned out to be the same weekend. The entire family was invited to attend Boy Scout camp. Shawn and I cancelled Austin and we were going to *gulp* camp as a family. Spencer learned of the "family camping" plan and quite unceremoniously un-invited his sister and me. We girls picked ourselves up by our bootstraps and enlisted "Nanny" to help us find our own girl-adventure (she is really quite good at that kind of thing). She found a cabin in the woods. On Friday, we went girl camping. Or rather, "glamping."

When we awoke on Saturday, the heavens opened as though they were telling us to get the hell out of town. We obeyed.

This is the black sky that was pouring rain at 10:00 in the morning.

And, that's Elizabeth watching the rain with her stuffed animals

safely ensconced in a garbage bag to keep them "safe and dry."

We returned home just in time for Shawn and me to attend our friends' annual Halloween party.

We were Bedbugs.

(That's a coffin/cooler behind us. I just didn't want you to miss it.)

In one final twist of irony, Shawn and Spencer didn't make it to Boy Scout camp either. And, evidently, when you leave two men footloose, fancy-free and unattended for twenty-four hours, Red Ryder BB Guns are purchased. WTH?! "You'll shoot your eye out!"

He's so intense! Evidently, once you're the proud owner of a BB gun,

you have to be mentally prepared to join a posse at a moment's notice.

True Confession

This is me moments before I left my house yesterday (Yes. Yes. It is weird that I stood in front of the mirror and took a picture of myself, thank you for asking.*):

Those? On my feet? Those are slippers. I wore them out in public. On purpose. I have no medical condition that would necessitate slipper-wearing. They're just cozy and faux-fur-lined and they have a rubber sole. I don't see the problem here.

Don't judge me.

P.S. The truth of the matter is that I have probably just moved one step closer to wearing my underwear on the outside of my clothes...

*Can you imagine how many pictures I had to take before I got one that I was willing to show you?! No. No, you can't.

Obscene Homework

It says, "Draw a picture to show the problem. 3 birds flying. 2 more come. Write how many birds in all."

Ummm... Son? It says 3 birds. You've drawn... well... never mind. Good job.

What? Why am I taking a picture of your homework? Because I think you did such an awesome job!

Shawn was robbed and assaulted

In case I just gave you a similar heart attack to the one I suffered when I heard those words, I will begin by stating emphatically: HE IS FINE.

He pulled up to the valet parking in San Antonio last night about 10:15. He was last in the line of cars. He saw two men (one in his 20s, one in his 30s) walk out of the bar next door. He set his briefcase on the ground and reached in to the backseat to get his suit jacket. One of the guys grabbed his briefcase not two feet away from Shawn, and Shawn grabbed him by the arm. They struggled with each other and the second guy ran up behind Shawn and pushed him to the ground. (At this point, you may want to take a gander over at that family picture in the sidebar. Shawn is not a small person. Shawn is a giant. I'm not sure it is even in my capabilities to push him down. So, we're not talking about a love-tap here.)

The thugs took off toward the Riverwalk with four valets, the hotel security guard (who is just about finished with his training to join the San Antonio police force) and Shawn (!) on their tails. One valet and the security guard went around and cut them off as they tried to come up out of the Riverwalk. And, by "cut off", I mean the security guard "form tackled" one of them, according to Shawn. He told Shawn that it wasn't too hard to know who he was looking for since they were two scummy-looking rats running down the street carrying a thirty-pound briefcase.

Shawn said bicycle policemen arrived from everywhere, at least fifteen of them (note to self: never make fun of bicycle policemen again).

Shawn and the valet who witness the entire thing got to go down to the police station and give statements until 1:15 in the morning.

But, here's the kicker: since they didn't just take his briefcase, but also pushed him to the ground, the charges went from misdemeanor "theft" to felony "assault." Good. This is my husband you messed with you no-good vermin.

The story that came out in the end was that they came out of the bar and "were looking for some excitement." Well, did you find it, you pieces of crap? I hear jail's pretty exciting.

I told Shawn in no uncertain terms (read that as using words my dad doesn't like me to use...) that his &%$*#@% briefcase wasn't worth his life - the "pusher" could have just as easily had a weapon. He told me he knew and he didn't care about his briefcase or his laptop - but he really needed the paperwork for his meetings today. :-/

P.S. Don't everyone call him at once to tell him he's an idiot and you love him - he really does have a lot of client meetings today. Just send up a quick thanks to the Lord for giving him such an amazing guardian angel and for answering our nightly prayers when he travels to "bring our Daddy back safely and quickly to us."

It's Tough being Lulu's Angel

One moment you're on a pedestal made of jars of cream and misappropriated bowls from the kitchen...

and the next... well, I just don't know how to describe what's happened...

Faith is Belief in Things Not Seen

Ever since I was a girl, I've thought of sunbeams as a visible sign of God. Like He's reaching down from Heaven to touch the face of His creation.

But, I only ever see sunbeams shining down through cloud, or trees.

I sat in my car yesterday on a perfectly ordinary day, at a perfectly ordinary stop light. Everything I saw with my eyes was perfectly ordinary.

I turned on my phone. It was still on the camera function. This is what I saw.

I lowered the phone. I looked around. Nothing. I raised the phone. Sunbeams. I lowered it. Nothing. I raised it. Sunbeams.

"Whaddup, God? Message received. Thanks."

May God grant you always...

a sunbeam to warm you,

a moonbeam to charm you,

a sheltering Angel

so nothing can harm you.

Laughter to cheer you.

Faithful friends near you.

And whenever you pray,

Heaven to hear you.

                       -Irish Blessing

Just as there comes a warm sunbeam into every cottage window, so comes a love - born of God’s care for every need.

                       -Nathaniel Hawthorne

But I know all the names of The Wiggles

Spencer: Is Barack Obama still the president?

Me: He is. You're so smart to know that. Do you know [Wait] the name [Do I know the name] of the Vice President? [Please, please, please let Spencer know the name of the Vice President.]

Spencer: No. What is it? [Damn! It's not Dick Cheney. That was the last guy. It's not Dick Cheney. I can't get the name "Dick Cheney" out of my head!]

Me: Ummm. Just a second. [dialing Brandy. I can tell Brandy I can't remember the Vice President's name and she won't give me too much grief. JOE BIDEN! I'm gonna hang up. No. I can't hang up. By now the call has surely come through on her phone already.]

Brandy: Hello?

Me: I was calling to admit to you that I couldn't remember the Vice President's name. But, I DO know it! It's Joe Biden.

Brandy: [I don't know what she said next. I couldn't understand her through her laughter.]

How do YOU greet the "Tree Guy"?

We have two huge trees in our backyard that have a terminal case of some dreaded tree fungus. We've given a valiant effort to ignoring the problem, but the time has come for them to pass on to that great big forest in the sky.

Shawn called a tree guy. I knew this. The tree guys came today. I knew this. I screeched into the driveway after dropping the kids at school and picking up groceries to throw in the crockpot for dinner (yes, this is the only way I cook anymore, thank you for asking) with a ten minute turnaround before I had to head back to school to help drive the First Grade class on a field trip. I saw the tree guy's truck in front of my house. I knew the tree guys were there.

I made pot roast in record time. I flew out of the house. I threw up the garage door. I was single-mindedly focused on getting Lulu's car seat out of my car (to make way for more First Grade booster seats) and making it to school on time.

I heard, "Mrs. Johnson?"

I jumped, turned and... screamed... in the tree guy's face.

He said, "I'm sorry. I'm blah blah blah* with blah blah blah* Tree Service. We're going to be working on your trees for the next couple of days."

I was so embarrassed that I just kept laughing and SMILING "the smile of the deranged" the whole time. 

I tried to make some pleasantries about our pathetic, dying trees but it was too little, too late.

He just wanted to introduce himself. And, I screamed in his face.

He quickly stepped away from me. (I can't imagine.) And, I could not. stop. laughing. So, I proceeded to unload the car seat while laughing to myself the entire time with a permanent humiliated smile on my face. And, I think I shook my head at myself a couple of times for emphasis, too.

Truly. I looked like a lunatic in my own driveway.

As soon as I could drive away, (while throwing an embarrassed wave to the poor, bewildered tree guys), I called Shawn. I confessed that I had just brought shame to our family and relayed the story. He said...

"Well. This does not surprise me."

If I have not made it clear before that I do not know how to interact with people I don't know in an appropriate manner, let this be proof for you. I do not do it well. Not well at all. I have now added "shriek in their faces and can't stop laughing about it" to my repertoire.

It's probably best that I be kept away from the general population.

*No seriously. I'm not trying to protect the names of the innocent. I endured all that and I have NO. IDEA. what the tree guy's name is.

Will There Be A Pool?

We took the kids to San Antonio for their Fall Break. We travelled six hours to get there. And, amazingly, there was only one brief period toward the end of our trip there (at 10:00pm after a full day of school) that involved wailing and gnashing of teeth. But, it was completely understandable because he "couldn't get comfortable in his seat" and his "bottom hurt from sitting on it" and he "was itchy." Itchy?! (And, that was just Shawn. ba-dum-cha!)

I'm not sure why we chose to drive so far when all the kids require for a five-star vacation rating is a swimming pool. I kid. There was a water slide, too - woot! And, a movie on the lawn one night. And, s'mores. There was a lazy river, too. But, in October, the unheated river is roughly the temperature of ice water. It still had a "beach" beside it, though. And, the kids endeavored to see if they could get every inch of their bodies covered with sand. Truly, a generational gap in what we all consider "fun".

(I tried to use the "Vibrance" effect from Picnik on these pics and it just made the kids look sunburned. Don't judge our sunscreening ability... this is an unfair representation!)

The kids had so much fun at the hotel property that they were actually annoyed that we forced them to see the Alamo and the Riverwalk one day. But, we made the poor, long-suffering darlings deal with it. And, they got ice cream in the end, so it turned out to be a successful venture.

While we were on the property, Shawn guilted me into the pool more times than I cared for (read that as "ever"). What's the age when the pool goes from the-ultimate-in-fun to make-you-cold, and try not to get-your-hair-wet-so-you-don't-have-to-wash-it-again or let-your-eye-makeup-run-down-your-cheeks? But, somehow Shawn thought letting-kids-climb-on-your-head and keep-Elizabeth-from-drowning-because-of-her-own-fearlessness-and-over-inflated-sense-of-swimming-ablity was a two person job. And, there may have been something about "family time". (He clearly didn't appreciate my outgoing cheering and participation from the lounge chair!) But, hello? I have stitches! (Stitches that can get wet. But, that's not the point. Stitches! I feel like I should get some sympathy mileage out of all six of them.)

But, seriously, we had a great time. The kids are finally at the age that  they are more fun than work. There used to be a time when it was the same ol' childcare, just a different location. Now, the four of us actually make happy memories - together.

I do have a suggestion for you, though, San Antonio. Work on the humidity. I think your tourism would really improve if one didn't have to drink the air and your atmosphere weren't so catastrophic to the average hair-do.

I don't know what this proves, but it must be something BAD

I was sorting through the pictures in my iPhoto, identifying them with the facial recognition feature. For those of you who don't know, this is a creepy big brother cool feature wherein you identify a person in a couple of picture and then the computer is able to use facial recognition to suggest that person in other pictures. This is a handy, handy sorting feature.

I received a picture of Shawn and me from an 80s costume party we recently attended.

Original picture

(notice the perfect 80's bangs I was able to recreate that night):

And, now, notice what iPhoto wanted to label as individual people:

What kind of fashion horror did we live through that our bangs had their own facial recognition properties?!

I May Have Met My Match

ohmygoodnessohmygoodnessohmygoodnessohmygoodnessohmygoodness

Do y'all remember when I told you we went to a birthday party and I delivered the wrong gift? (Well, of course you do. I mean, you are hanging on my every word, right? Right?!)

I just got this thank-you note in the mail:

In case you can't read it, it says:

Dear Ali & Shawn, 

Thank you so much for the "T" necklace. I love it. I'm sure I will wear it often. Sorry - I mean - Thank you so much for the earrings! They are so cute! Thanks for coming to my party. You guys make everything fun!

I *heart* my friends with the power of a thousand hearts.

Smart Girl

The adults at the table were discussing a check I'm expecting in the mail. (You may now believe me to be an heiress if it makes you feel better. It makes me feel better. As a matter of fact, I'm going to have to insist that you all believe me to be an heiress. Ok. Better. Let's proceed.)

Spence (ever the eavesdropper) started asking me questions about it. I answered him and concluded, laughing, "That's Mommy's job!"

He said, "No it's not! That's not a job!"

Elizabeth piped in from across the table, "Mommy?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

You should take a lesson from your sister, Son. Always kiss up to the one expecting money.

Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful Boy

Seven years ago today I found myself. I found myself under a pile of the former person I had been. I found myself beneath the horror of the words, "An Apgar of 2," and the gut-wrenching pain of watching my newborn baby being whisked away from me. I found myself through every. single. breath I took during the seven hours I waited for him to be returned to me. I found myself in the Mother Bear that believed I could will him to hold on to the tentative grasp he had on the world when he first entered it. I know I love him from the very core of my soul because that's the part of me that I thought would break without him. It's the part of me that is completed by him and it's the part of me that still hurts when he hurts.

I was absolutely unprepared to be a mother. More so because I thought I was so very prepared. I had read every book! But, those books didn't explain what it was like to have your heart outside your body; to feel absolutely helpless.Those books didn't prepare me for the complete destruction of my very self-centered life. Now it was all about him. The fact that I loved him so fiercely made that a bearable idea - but, just barely.

It took eight weeks to understand the new "me". I almost drowned in my own tears during that time. Finally, I felt the old "me" break and completely crumble away under the newfound realization that it would never be all about me again. I could no longer be a selfish little girl. I was his mother. And, I either needed to accept that and be the best mother that I possibly could be or...

Blessedly, I could accept that. There never was an "or". He is my world. He gave me my purpose.

Seven years ago today I became a Mother.

                                                                                   

Happy Birthday, Spence.

By all accounts you were a very healthy preemie. But, you did just cautiously dip your toe into this life when you first joined us - not even prepared to take your first breath without some coaxing. That is your cautious nature to this day. But, after those first few moments, you grabbed ahold of this life and showed us the steel of which you are made. There are times I see a depth in your soul. I believe you found wisdom beyond your years in those first few hesitant hours you spent with us.

Then you were mine to hold. And, I will never let you go.

You are so smart, and kind, and sensitive, and funny - and a complete rascal. I love what a thinker you are. I love that you do. not. want to be the center of attention - but you own it; you stand up for yourself; you stand out as far as your comfort will let you. I love the big brother that you are. I love the friend that you are. I love the person that you are. You are perfectly you.

Happy birthday my darling, darling, darling boy.

Blog Awards, Blog Etiquette and Mad Redheads

I was awarded The Cherry on Top blog award seven thousand weeks ago by Avant Garde Parenting (an unbelievably, down-to-earth parenting blog by a blogger that has also become my friend - we would so be "besties" in real life ;).

This came with the challenge to answer the question "If you had the chance to go back and change one thing in your life, would you and what would it be?"

Nope. Not a thing. Not because I think I've done it perfectly (hold on, let me stop laughing about that mere thought), but because every single moment has been in the plan God has for my life. Every single moment has made me just the person I am today with just the life I have today. Not perfect. Not by a long shot. But, perfect for me.

Then I was supposed to choose five other blogs to bestow this award upon...

Last week, my friend at Eat. Live. Laugh. and sometimes shop! (a great blog by my real-life friend that helps me find the awesomeness that is out in the world when you shop other places than Wal-Mart. I know! Who knew?!) awarded me the One Lovely Blog award.

This one I merely have to acknowledge and thank.

Thank you, thank you, my friend!

And, pay it forward to fifteen blogs... Um. Come again?! Fifteen?! I'm not even sure I know fifteen real-life people, much less fifteen "lovely" blogs. Ok. I kid. But, really?

I'm pretty convinced blog awards are the pleasant version of a chain letter (she gives it to five people... who give it to five more people... who give it to five more people... wait. Is that a chain letter or an STD? I think I'm off track... Oh, yeah. Blog Awards.)

To add to my conundrum, I was scared out of my rookie-blogger pants when I read that Redhead Ranting (I mean, come on! She's a redhead and she's ranting - that's scary enough in and of itself to make you pay attention...) detests blog awards and thinks it's just we newbie bloggers who keep perpetuating them.

So, I've come up with my personal solution for blog awards. I'm going to be flattered, honored and grateful when I receive them. (Someone's telling me I'm awesome? Rock on!) I'm going to complete the tasks they ask of me (within reason. Hear me now: I will not accept the "Eat a Roach" blog award). But, I think I'm just going to have to accept the seven years of bad luck (isn't that the punishment for breaking a chain letter?) for not passing them on.

I'm close enough to redhead to know, you don't want to make us mad.



UPDATE: Eat. Live. Laugh. and sometimes shop! solved the problem for me. She suggested an "Awards" page. See it up there at the top?

What a doll! She gives me a blog award, thereby boosting my self-esteem; and helps me figure out what to do with it so I don't have to work too hard, thereby enabling my naturally lazy nature. I love her.

The Continuing Saga of my Mole

So, I can only guess that most of you have not been obsessively googling "spitz nevi" like my step-mom and I have. In that case, let me tell you that they are most commonly found in people under the age of twenty (and I know what you're thinking, but regardless of how young I look, I am over twenty. You're sweet, though). One site even suggests, "As a rule, a pathologist should always think thrice before diagnosing a Spitz nevi in an adult over 40 years of age." (I instinctively got a little miffed that my step-mom was so brazen to point out that my age was "close enough" to 40. Rude... But, accurate... Now I don't want to talk about it anymore.)

Oh, and by the way, the alternative diagnosis: melanoma. Yay!

The doctor walked into the office today and I said, "So, I know you probably hate it when your patients say, 'I've been googling...'"

And, he said, "But, spitz nevi is a very unusual diagnosis for someone your age."

Um. Holla! to the doctor that can read your mind!

Then he said, "That's why we're going to treat this like a melanoma today. That way, even if we do get another diagnosis on this new pathology, we will have already taken the most cautious approach."

I may have said, "Do it!" or "Yay!" or "You can have my whole knee cap, just make sure I'm here to watch my kids grow up," I'm not sure. But, now I look like I went off to war and got triaged in a battlefield tent.

Don't even care! I feel like a thousand ton weight is off my chest.

During the procedure I said, "So now at least we know my skin is trying to kill me."**

He said, "That's a very good way to look at it."

WHAT?! No it's not. You clearly don't read my blog! That is a sample of my self-deprecating defense technique. Your response is supposed to be, "No. No. This will probably never happen again." Geez. Your office is really bad at knowing what your lines are!

P.S. After having to get the kids off to school single-handedly for the second time in two weeks, Shawn's response to the idea that I need to be closely watched for melanomas: "Knowing what it's like taking care of these kids without you, if I see anything weird on your body, I'm cutting it off myself."

Having a husband who appreciates me: Good.

Surgery by steak knife: Bad.

**I told you a long time ago that I only have a limited amount of material. Now you have proof that I really do reuse this stuff.