Chaos In A Bottle

I decided that my title doesn’t need to have anything to do with the post. I find that decision takes a lot of stress off of me. It’s a win/win, really.

So, it’s pretty obvious that I won’t be able to finish my book by the end of NaNoWriMo. However, I’m writing regularly, I’m not UNhappy with what’s making its way onto the page, AND I’m farther along in the story than I’ve ever been before. I’m counting it a win. And I’m continuing to write. Fairly pleased about that.

Thanksgiving was – calm. Peaceful, even. Just myself, Patrick, the girls and my parents. Of course, despite the fact that there were only 6 people at the table, there was an 18lb turkey, a ham, and four pies. Four.

I ate all the food. Ever. I don’t think I’ll need to eat until, say, 2014 at the earliest. I even had to do the dreaded “pop the button” on my jeans. I’m not proud, but there it is. We’re a southern family – we cook way too much for these things.

I’ll work some of it off tomorrow, since Archer boy is going to hang with the sheep for an hour or so. Ok, so he’s the one that’s going to be running around with the sheep, but I have to take him there. That counts for something, I believe. It should, anyway. That’s what I’m going with. Dunno what I’m going to do when it’s time to start him on cattle.

Here’s a picture of Archer. Just because.

Archer with the ever-present tennis ball

Rhiannon wanted a ukulele for her birthday. I blame Amanda Palmer. She got one, though, and now Brianna wants one, because darn it if they aren’t the cutest, most fun little instruments ever. R immediately set out to learn “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”, which she did in about 15 minutes, and I found you just can’t help but smile when I hear it. 10 year old, playing the ukulele and singing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”. I dare you to have a bad day afterwards. Dare. You.

I’ve had the urge to write something political, but this just isn’t the forum for it. I KNOW it’s my blog, and I can write whatever the heck I want, but I just don’t want this one to be the “heavy” one. Of course, it’s the only one I have, so I’ve either got to write it here, start another blog for what might be one entry that nobody reads, or write it down in my personal journal and call it all good. We’ll see what happens. Probably if I lie down long enough the urge will go away. That’s what usually happens to my urge to do housework. Or exercise.

This is what I really want to be doing, but it’s closed today. The range, not my man. Yeah, that all came out kinda wrong, but take it as it is.

Patrick at the range. Because hot guys with weapons are even hotter.

I did NOT participate in the Black Friday madness. Not only am I planning to shop at local small businesses as much as I can for Christmas gifts, I don’t want to encourage a practice that has retail workers giving up time with their families because they have to work at obnoxious hours. Family time is too precious for that, especially in families where both parents must work. Nope. Not gonna do it.

And, because I spent last Thanksgiving with this guy and his family as well as my own, here is M. I miss this little booger so much it hurts. I miss his family so much it hurts. *sigh*

Sweetest baby boy ever. Ever ever ever.

Ok, so I was reading The Un Mom, because the post was about exercise being bad for you and I’m all about not exercising, and I decided that if I were going to exercise, I needed asbestos shorts, because when I do exercise, my thighs might rub together so hard my underwear catches on fire, and really, there’s nothing weirder than some chick running down the street with her behind in flames, and I have to live in this neighborhood, you know?

So, I decided that I need a pair of these, only made out of asbestos or Nomex or something.  Then no matter how hot my thighs got, there would be no flaming panties, and the entire neighborhood could rest easier without worrying that the lady down the street was going to catch their dogwoods on fire every time she took the dog for a walk.

Now, if I were being chased by zombies, I would totally want my butt on fire because not only would it make me run faster, it might actually take care of the zombies behind me, and then I could slow down and extinguish my hind parts.