An actual conversation as heard from the backseat:
Eva: Tyler, I have a boo-boo!
Tyler: Where is it?
Eva: On my hand! I bitted it!
Tyler: Eva, it’s not bitted. Bitting is when you’re doing it. Bitted means you already bit.
Eva: No, you didn’t bit it! I bited it!
Sometimes I wonder how I talk to Doug’s kids at all.
Horrible realization #1: One hundred hand-written Christmas cards and an acute case of carpal tunnel later, you are out of return address labels.
Horrible realization #2: As you rediscover a stash of return address labels sent annually by St. Jude’s, it occurs to you that the value of these labels now exceeds the last donation you made in 2006.
Horrible realization #3: You’re going to use those labels anyway.
Today I started a Skype account, but I’m not sure why. To me, the beauty of the telephone is that I could have a perfectly normal conversation with Play-doh in my hair, green seaweed on my face and the same clothes I slept in the night before, and no one would be the wiser. Since when did technology take away my God-given right to look like death warmed over?
The dog’s regurgitated heap of leftover turkey giblets next to an unopened box of smashed ornaments and fake tree branches…this year’s magical transition into the holiday season. And so it begins…