Sicker Than Others Saving the Landfills, one Giant Plastic Toy At a Time

I’m a little drunk, which is always a good time to step away from the keyboard, and yet here I sit, clicking away while my teenager watches horrible, horrible anime on cartoon network and my husband takes one for the team with ToddlerA downstairs. She’s still on her friend-over high, unable to stop twitching and retelling every second of Amelia’s visit tonight.

It’s funny the way those two talk about each other when they’re not together, given that anytime they’re within 10 feet of each other fur will fly before 10 minutes have passed. Lucky for us my husband is a kindergarten teacher who runs a tight ship and is quick to intervene, while I wave my hard cider in the air and say “oh, let’s just see what happens when we let them work it out”

I love L and A. Our two youngest are 10 months apart or so, a girl and boy, Jack being the oldest. I’d be lying if I said I never thought about arranging them to marry. I know that must suck for the kids, but how awesome would it be as a parent to just have it all worked out from birth? To pick your in-laws? Not that I’d deny my children true love’s kiss or anything, but dudes.

Pick your own in-laws. Think on that for a bit.

Like I said, I’m a little drunk. The garden is lovely, the citronella torches seem to do their job, there was light enough for girls to chase (tackle) each other all through the yard while the adults touched on politics and did the Red Dawn test. (they passed, and now we love them.)

then later:
“I’m not sure I should get a collarbone tattoo. what if I marry the president or something?”
“what the FUCK are you talking about?”
“well I’m just saying. What if you and Michelle Obama are on a plane together and die and I’m left to try to piece together what happened with Barack?”
“what are you, in a Harrison Ford movie now?”

and that, Internet, is why I married my husband.

Wolverines!