It's Probably Best I Leave This One Untitled

I dreamed last night that my husband was applying for a third residency. I have never been so relieved to wake up to the reality of three--not six--more years of training. It's all relative. In the dream nightmare, we were living in the Maine house, and talking about how nice it would be to match to Georgetown or George Washington, so we wouldn't have to move. My subconscious has never been that well-versed in geography.


In other dreamy news, we discovered that what Ohio desperately lacks in the Sushi department, it makes up for in Thai food. In our sleepy little suburb, it seems we have stumbled upon the best panang curry I've ever tasted. Crazy, right? (Also, it stands to reason that the Thai food is in part to blame for last night's nightmare.)


This morning the kids and I went to the fall carnival at Caed's school. I dutifully performed the roles of the Hold All The Dumb Prizes lady, as well as the Hold The Jackets lady, the Purchase And Divvy Up Tickets lady, and the Run Interference With Swifty The Clown lady. (Swifty had some mad balloon skilz, and while the kids weren't about to make eye contact with said clown, they sure as heck didn't want to miss out on balloon-fashioned butterfly wings and an air-filled bow and arrow.)

Caed brought home a whoopee cushion (one of the dumb prizes), and he and Dani had a whopping good time taking turns sitting on it. That is, until the quest began to get the dog to sit on it. At which time I confiscated the "toy", cited the children for cruelty to animals (and to mother's ears), and declared the kitchen and living room a toot-free zone.

Okay, I admit it. Whoopee cushions are hilarious. Just don't tell the kids I said that.


Larry is working again today. Shocker, I know! Who would have guessed? And do you know what I'm doing? No? Well I'll tell you. In no less than two hours, I will welcome 30 adults into my house as I host the dessert course of the neighborhood progressive dinner. An assignment I received barely 48 hours ago, and I'm doing it all by myself. Wanna know how I do it? I don't take naps.

(That last paragraph might have come off a bit snooty. Like "hey look at me, I'm little miss perfect hostess slash single parent!" In case the sarcasm wasn't slathered on thick enough to be recognized as such, let me clarify that I do not, in fact, believe myself to be God's gift to progressive dinners.)


Dani has a new favorite song--the top request whenever we are in the car or in the midst of a dance party. I've been trying to catch her on video singing it, but she zips her lips the moment she sees the camera. I'm telling you, though, I'm going to catch her, and when I do, it is so going on the blog, and then you will see for yourself why I'd go to the ends of the earth for this girl of mine.

(In the meantime, you can hear KT sing it here. She's almost as talented as Dani.)


It just occurred to me that people googling "whoopee cushion" and "panang curry" and "residency at Georgetown" might land on this post. To which I say in advance to all of you who may one day arrive here, I'm so very sorry. Well, except you whoopee cushion people. What are you doing googling whoopee cushion anyway? Sheesh. Grow up already.


Uh oh. Time's up. The progressive dinner waits for no one, not even the celebrity dessert course hostess. Happy weekend!

(Caed appears to be preparing to take out the butterfly with his bow and arrow. But the butterfly has a least she looks like she does.)

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