Why is it that my mother is my child’s grandmother by my uncle is my child’s great uncle? It should be grand uncle. I’m starting a movement.
For the first time in my adult life, I made Brussels sprouts for dinner (with dinner, I should say, as they were not the main course, as the rest of the family would surely bludgeon me if I did that), and I LOVED them. Seriously, why are they given such a bad rap? I’m pretty sure I was born with Hate Brussels Sprouts imprinted in my DNA, as all kids seem to be. But roasted in a little olive oil, salt, & pepper, they are fantastic. Granted, my children did not eat them (Sammy complained that they were “too leafy”), but perhaps someday they will. (Remember, these are the kids who say they don’t like chicken and tomatoes, so I’m betting their tastes will change over time.)
I would like to thank the lady at the coffee shop who told my daughter they would be celebrating their 2nd anniversary tomorrow and that there would be cake, so now all I have heard today is that we have to go back for cake. The upside is that all of this would happen right before school, so any sugar rush would be the teachers’ problem.
I am incredibly sad to be missing the Blathering this weekend. I’m watching tweets of happy ladies arriving in New Orleans, and I want to be there with them so badly, my stomach hurts. But. BUT. I am anxiously awaiting the reveal of next year’s location and dates so I can sign up at the exact moment registration opens. I am THERE next year.
Well, my brain sure is scattered today. I know - as usual, Julie.