Post office

Quinn and I sent our Christmas packages today. When we got to the front of the line, the new postlady asked, "What grade are you in?" Quinn replied, "Third grade. . . . It's a hard life. . . . You can't believe what we have to do in science!"

Everyone in the line behind us chuckled heartily. I suppose it's a good sign when people in the post office are laughing.

Chicago Spread

The turkey is on the table. Where are the s? One child is ready to eat. Where are the s? What are the boys fishing out of the cooler? Where are the s?

Sinus pain woke me up at 3:45 am today. I called my physician when his office opened and asked him to phone in antibiotics for my sinus infection. He insisted I come into the office. So, I took the day off, sat in his office for about an hour, saw the doctor for about 90 seconds and ya know what he said, right? "Looks like you have a sinus infection. Let me call in an antibiotic for you." Then, he asked which antibiotic I preferred. Maybe next time he will trust me more. Maybe he should just give me one of those prescription pads.

Happy Thanksgiving!

As the story goes, I was told that I could NOT take the rocking horse home with me. Apparently, I picked it up to prove that I COULD take it with me. However, the issue was one of permission, not ability.

What else can I do? Make a mean turkey dinner one day, drive 3 and 1/2 hours each way for turkey dinner the next day, convince toll booth workers to accept 50 cents in pennies, unwrap a portable DVD player meant for Christmas and give it to my children early to "try it out" on our long trip.

But can I convince my children to go to sleep tonight? We shall see. . .

Lo-n-g Time

Long time, no blogging. We are busy rounding up receipts and answering questions for the IRS, who can't believe Mike drove 40,500 miles for business in 2004. It kinda sucks the humor out of life for a while. Perhaps it will be included in my memoirs when it is but a faint memory.

I promise a better, stronger, funnier message next time.

Speaking of Rednecks . . .

This is a new friend from church, dressed up as a redneck hunter for "Trunk or Treat" last month. I wonder if he might be interested in our squirrel trap.

You know you're a redneck if . . .

. . .you have to empty the squirrel trap before school.

But what Mike really wanted to catch were some of the pesky chipmunks. Better luck next time, Mr. Rellim.

All clear

Quinn's follow-up appointment with the orthopedic surgeon resulted in an "all clear" for participation in physical education at school. Of course, the numerous bruises and grass stains on his jeans were a give-away that he had not exactly been minding doctor's orders to obstain from active recess.

P.S. I've been trying to post a picture for about 3 days but keep getting kicked off the website. I'll keep trying . . .