Matt tells our kids it's spaghetti. Because he had a normal, decent childhood. My sisters and I never had a chance. We think it's hilarious to sing the most annoying songs in the history of the universe on long car rides or all day hikes so that they get stuck in other people's heads. We laughed until we cried when Dee recounted a NPR special about sexing turkeys at one memorable Thanksgiving feast.
Because my sisters and I inherited my Dad's bizarre sense of humor, my youngest sister sent me an email the other day entitled, "It's true." I knew it was going to be good...and it was.
Bestill my heart. Someone out there in the world shares my family's penchant for pumpkin potty humor.
I wish I could say that we are all together today, three glasses in and laughing our asses off, but they have gathered in the Lonestar state and Matt and I have decided that a kajillion children (or four) and holiday travel do not mix. So, we are here laughing our asses off with friends who are family, raising our third glasses (or fourth, who's counting? yes, Cue, you may have a sixth cupcake) to loved ones, near and far, to friends that get us through our days, to cupcakes, to pumpkin poop pie.
L'chaim, blog people, to life!
(Oh, you are totally going to have that song stuck in your head for days. I know you are reading this in Texas. I win.)
(What, what's that? It's sixty there? Low blow. You win. Love you.)
I'm closing my comments for most of the month of November while I participate in National Novel Writing Month and National Blog Posting Month. I can't ask you to talk to me every freaking day for thirty days. That's cruel and usual punishment. My email is always open - anymommyoutthere@gmail.com.E&E Tally: 17735 words (finishing weak, so true to form)
Blog posts: 26/30
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