Once upon a time, I lived in Houston and went to daycare. In hindsight I have to figure that it was a pretty cool daycare because we often went to the roller rink after school. Most of my memories of that time are vague, because I was pretty young. I do remember a battle over spinach, and to this day I do not eat greens that have been canned or cooked beyond recognition. Bygones.
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First of all I am going to apologize in advance. I’ve been swinging in Thanksgiving leftovers and plowing through all-nighters. Again. Yes, there’s been hot black coffee fueling me for days, and that sludge and muck is churning my body into a large amoebic-like mass that absorbs anything in sight. Sadly the story is way too horrific to make millions at the box office, but don’t worry, the in-laws have left so they won’t be accidentally injured in the aftermath.
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It’s funny how as we get older, we turn more into people we are related to. I swear, once I hit my twenties, I saw my mother outside my door, waiting to be let in. I was moderately amused to discover it was my own reflection (my mom was pretty hot when she was in her 20s) but then again, not so much. We never really want to become our family, but I guess it is inevitable. Today, sadly, demonstrated that to me.
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HRH was having a particularly rough day, last week. So El Jefe sat down with her on the couch, tucked her under his arm, kissed the top of her sweet head, and pulled up Amazon on his iPhone. Search: Girls’ shoes. He’s such a good daddy. And such a sucker!
That was the Electric Company, right? Or maybe we all just remember it from the Goonies if we were too young to have seen it. Ok, I am old enough to have seen it.
