My kids are so different than when I was a little kid.  Today I told bobo that I was going to make oatmeal and he nearly screamed, “HOOOOORAY!!!!  THANKS MOM!”  I don’t remember oatmeal ever producing that effect in my childhood.    

In non breakfast related news, the most excellent praiseworthy man in the kingdom will celebrate his birthday this Saturday.  Yes, Geoff the Great is another year older.  Coie spent $115 on his birthday present.  I spent $8.  And at this point I’m planning to sneak into her room Friday night, rummage thru her closet, hijack her present and scribble, “From Coie…. But mostly from Jen” before it’s offered the next day.  On second thought, maybe I won’t — it will depend whether or not she’s finished my bathroom before then.  She had a little trouble getting the toilet put back in and hooked up + working properly after pulling it out to sand and putty and paint.  And I was right terrified at the prospect of having to use the kids’ bathroom if she could not fix it. Shudder Shudder.  I might not want to risk angering the plumber/remodeler/painter before the task has been fully completed.

Lastly, my son James got a dog, and it’s the best pet ever.  He plays with it constantly; he even rides it.  For the last three days, my seven year old son, Dippy, has been all too happy to play, “Puppy” for his little brother.  That kid has more patience than I can comprehend.  And the funny thing is, as the game has been going on (and on and on) James takes it all the more serious.  Last night Coie was reading to the family and I had James straight-jacketed tightly in my lap, and he looked up at me piteously — and fully serious — and whispered, “mama, I go get my dog?”  And since I was not willing to let the orangutan loose, I quietly whistled and patted my knee to get Dippy’s attention and said, “come here, boy”, and Dip dutifully came over on all fours and put his head on James lap so his hair could be petted, patted and pulled.   And I hope James is happy because that’s the only inside pet he’s ever gonna get.

January 31st, 2008 - Posted in Uncategorized | | 24 Comments

Or, rather, in my case, “They Can Do It, I Can Watch”.   I am having my bathroom entirely revamped, redone, repainted, and remodeled. At first Coie told me (as she stood on my bathroom counter scraping the ceiling), “You got a good deal, mom — we’re even cheaper than illegal aliens”, but then on second thought she realized that not only was she and ryann doing all the work (for free), but she also forked out the cash for the paint, etc. 

The Coie

The Ryann

I’ve got a pretty good gig running.  And no, you can’t borrow them.  At least not until they’ve worked thru the rest of my never ending list.  I hope Coie’s husband is willing to live in our basement, because honestly, I am not sure I can do without the girl.  Speaking of which, geoff started giving her these pre-courting projects to do.  Her first task is to write out an essay listing everything she should want in a husband, complete with reasons why and biblical references.  And the other day I caught her working on it, and then we started chatting a little about her future marriage, etc, and I totally broke down and started crying like a walrus.  I really don’t think she’s going to be allowed to leave before I die, my poor heart just won’t be able to take it.  I’ve actually been praying that God does not send anybody for a while.  Is that mean?  I can’t help it.  I really don’t want anybody to come and take her away.

In other news, yesterday Dippy wrote his very first sentence.  He brought a piece of paper and asked if I would write the word “stung” in the middle of it.  Then he brought it back about 15 minutes later with the following: “the fat be stung a fat dad”.  And that made me cry, too.  I think I must be going thru menopause or something. What a sap I’m turning into.  And yes, I did tell him that he needed another ‘e’ in ‘be’.

Lastly, I finished The Six Wives of Henry the VIII two nights ago.  *Very* fascinating, intriguing and overall worthwhile – not to mention the longest non-fiction book I’ve ever read.  This morning Geoff the Great took me to the library and I totally binged.  I found The Children of Henry VIII, by the same authoress (Alison Weir), plus a book on Thomas Cranmer and the English reformation, plus another random book on the 1500’– 1600s called Renaissance Lives, plus two books by Anthony Trollope.  I will not have to leave the house for the next six weeks.  I am in nerd heaven.

January 28th, 2008 - Posted in Uncategorized | | 24 Comments

Ok, so for years and years and years I have wondered where my obsessive love for disco, groove and anything *funky* came from. I’ve always known that it was intrinsically fused within my DNA.  From an early age I longed to be a solid gold dancer (yes, seriously).  I had all of Michael Jackson’s songs memorized (back when he was black).  If anything mo-town came on – and this is still true to this very day – I simply cannot stop myself from bustin’ a move.  I tell you the truth, I really cannot help it.  God made me this way (to the dismay, embarrassment and vexation of my non-groovatious family — well, that’s not entirely true.  I can always count on Bo and Emmiko to flail around with me). 

So, like I said, the funk was there, yet I knew not from whence it came.  However, my dad recently cleared up the mystery.  And you won’t believe me, but the following is totally and completely fully and absolutely entirely true: 

His mother, my grandmother, came from the Family Funk.  Yes.  The Family Funk.

I kid you not, my dad’s mother’s last name was *Funk*.  And after he told me that, I sort of remembered hearing something like that a long time ago, but I guess I always thought it was a joke, or that the Family Funk was real, but not my direct predecessors.  Is that not truly the coolest thing ever?   

And here, to prove it, is a picture of Mother Funk – at this point she had become Mrs. Wright, but naturally she was still fully Funk-y   And check out my dad, he’s the movie star looking fella next to his mama on the far left.  When I was a little girl, all my friends would want to come over and stare at him.  That’s a true story.

I also found out that his dad, my grandfather, was a red-head.  I never knew that.  My daughter, Ryann, has red hair and I could never figure that one out.  Even Geoff’s Japanese dad — when he came over after she was born — sorta lifted an eyebrow and said, “Uh… Japanese babies don’t have red hair” But Aha!  By golly, they do if their great-grandfather was a 6 foot leprechaun.  And mine most certainly was!  Check him out:

Aren’t they lovely? My dad has been sending me pictures and history all evening.  This is so fun(ky).  And  I can’t believe I never knew any of this stuff before!  I think there is something about hitting your mid 30’s that all of a sudden makes you want to know who you’re made up of.

January 25th, 2008 - Posted in Uncategorized | | 0 Comments

Ok, I got my glasses in.  I am pretty sure my IQ shot up about forty points as soon as I put them on.  Now I look like a real homeschool teacher.  I guess “look” is the operative word.  Now if I can just keep from opening my mouth and ruining the effect

Speaking of mouths, gracious heavens… just call me WiiiiiiLbuuuuur.  Neigh.

And, I am trying to figure out how to scan pictures in with my printer.  My dad sent a letter to Ryann and it had a picture of him and me when I was ten.  He is in his blue Air Force uniform and I am in my navy blue British school uniform (did I ever tell you that I went to a British school when we were stationed in England?). Anyways, it’s pretty sweet, and holy moly is my dad a knock out.  He is *such* a handsome man.  My kids are preparing a huge blow out celebration / song and dance production when he comes in June.  It’ll be pretty special.  They are all determined to become his personal ‘favorite’.  Silly little pigeons.  Anyways, if I can figure it out, I will try and post the picture.  But I warn you, I am one goofy looking kid.

In other news, I was excited for Ryann because the set of Mandie books (that she stole from Coie) sold for $17 on ebay… but then I saw where we needed to ship them and just died laughing.  Just guess who won them?  Jessica’s husband, Charley. 

Charley, I hope you enjoy the series and that you find Mandie to be an inspirational role model.

January 23rd, 2008 - Posted in Uncategorized | | 0 Comments

I’m reading this book right now, which I love, The Six Wives of Henry the VIII. (recommended by none other than my beloved literary sage) Goodness gracious glory, the book is ferociously addicting.   So anyways, the author has an affinity for the phrase, "It’s not for nothing".  As in, "It’s not for nothing she was Queen Isabella’s daughter" or "It was not for nothing Katherine was suspicious of the new court intrigue".  I don’t like that phrase.  The first time I saw it, I was like, "huh-whaaaaaaaaaa ????"  It took me like 15 minutes to figure out what the heckums she was trying to say.

But, I have to admit, that dumb phrase is better than the even dumber phrase, "In my heart of hearts".   Anthony Trollope – the best author ever – yes, I mean that, even though I did not think it possible to find anything equal to E.D.E.N Southworth – anyhow, the only thing I don’t like about Anthony Trollope, is that he uses that phrase in every book he writes.   "In his heart of heart Josef believed the deed was in the desk at Nina Balatka’s house" or "but in his heart of hearts Josef still believed Nina knew nothing of its existence’   

And I have to be honest, the only reason why I don’t like that phrase is because it reminds me of Geraldo Rivera.   He used to always always always use that expression on his ridiculously moronic talk show – which I used to watch religiously 15 years ago.  Do you remember that circus show?  It was like the precursor to Jerry Springer. And remember when he got his nose busted up by the flying chair from the fist fight that broke out on stage?   egads.  The overall amount of time I have wasted in my life…  So anyways, now whenever I hear the saying, "In my heart of hearts" all I can picture is Geraldo Rivera with a wad of toilet paper shoved up his swollen nose.

Um… where was I going with this?  I have no idea.  I guess that’s what happens when I sit down to write without anything particular to say.   Niagara Nonsense.

Ok, moving on.  How do you like the plate of Emmigators?  My artist created this family of edible water lizards to the great enjoyment of all the Igs. Me and Geoff got our own (mine was the pink one). The baby alligators were split between the rest of the piranhas.    

I’m starting to wonder if Emmiko is destined to become an eminent culinary something-or-other.  And for the record, they tasted delicious. Sort of a mix between mild sugar cookies and fluffy biscuits.   In my stomach of stomachs, I enjoyed them most sincerely.

January 21st, 2008 - Posted in Uncategorized | | 0 Comments

My son is not the best at asking for stuff he wants, or I don’t know, maybe he is.  I was sitting on the couch reading a book and he comes up to me with this suffocatingly sweet look on his face (I know you guys know that look – the one that means they want something) and says, “Beautiful mother?  I just want to let you know that I’m going to ask you a question, and you’re going to say “no”.  And why are you going to say no?  Because you love me and you care about my health”

Ok… so believe it or not, I did not bother asking him, “Well if you already know this then why must you bother me while I’m trying to read?”  No, instead (since his soliloquy made me snort) I was implicitly drawn into his scheme. So he continued….”you know, it’s sort of interesting — in a scientific sort of a way — that molasses mixed with sugar, which is then melted in the microwave, will actually turn into a liquid caramel that can then be poured over popcorn”. 

No, in all actuality, I did not know that.  And then he just grinned ridiculously with his eyebrows up.  So, as expected, I was inclined to tell him, “have at it”. And so I wonder…does this mean, after all, that I do *not* care about his health?  I’m not sure.  He so utterly perplexed me.

In other news, my glasses came in.  I got a voice mail that said, “Hello, this message is for JEEEEEEEAN uh fur….  You can come pick up your glasses, sweetie, whenever it’s con-vene-e-yint”   How can you not like somebody who is willing to leave a message like that?    

In other news, I had a neat conversation with my friends over at Rosetta Stone. And it turns out… I maybe, might, could, perhaps, possibly, represent them at a couple of homeschool shows later this year, along with Coie.  I would like this for a number of reasons.  First of all, they really do have a fabulous program – matter of fact, in March they are unveiling a new upgraded version that is pretty incredible. Second of all, it would be a fun way to make some extra $$ without working full time or committing to being away more than a couple of weekends.  Third of all, have you ever been on a road trip with Coie? There is nothing funner on the planet.  Actually, I have to admit that a road trip with Kate may tie for first– good heavens that lady makes me laugh harder than anybody I have ever known.  As in, *seriously- afraid-for-my-health* type of laughing so hard.  So if you are planning a road trip, I highly recommend either of them. 

But anyways, wouldn’t that sort of be fun doing a couple of HS shows?  We’ll see what happens.  At any rate, it was neat that they contacted me after being out of the ‘homeschool scene’ for so long.  This year is shaping up to be mighty interesting!  

Whooopsies, and I almost forgot.  My brilliant entrepeneur daughter, Ryann, is selling a stack of 20 Mandie books (Bethany House), which used to belong to Coie, for 99 cents.  They can be found here on Ebay if you just so happen to be in a bidding sort of mood.

January 17th, 2008 - Posted in Uncategorized | | 0 Comments

I came up with the most absolutely brilliant birthday present in the universe for Coie.  And I was so supremely proud of myself because, quite frankly, picking out presents is not my forte’.  I am very good at *getting* presents, but alas, Jessica got all the Great Gift Idea genes.  So anyhow, by a stroke of sheer luck I thought of said gift, and went to Amazon.com and purchased it with glee.  And I aint saying what it is because I am getting the same thing for Jessica’s husband for his birthday in April.

Ok, so here’s what caused the subsequent profusity of grumbling.  Whenever you buy something from Amazon.com, they find it necessary to remind you every single time you log back on, “Hello Jenefer, here’s a group of  pictures showing what  you bought the last time you were here, just in case you want to buy another one”.  So, knowing this, I was extra careful when I went to Amazon.com today and I clicked away from the “recommendations” page and then called Coie in to help me with something that I was trying to pick out for Geoff the Great.  But this was all to no avail, because the second I purchased the thing for Geoff, another page popped up and said, “Thanks for your new purchase, Jenefer, and in case you already forgot what we JUST reminded you of buying for Coie, HERE”S ANOTHER GREAT BIG PICTURE OF IT”.  So I shrieked and spun around and glared at Coie, who I knew must’ve seen the gift I got her, and she got this dumb look on her face like, “Huh? What? Who? When? What are we frothing at the mouth about?”  So I asked her, “did you see that???”  to which she promptly lied, “See what? I didn’t see anything”  And naturally, since the girl can’t lie worth a hoot, it only took one more glare before she confessed all and admitted that she did most certainly indeed see the best gift ever that I had purchased.  My grand surprise has been obliterated.

So not only do I have to deal with the unutterable grief that my little tiny daughter is turning NINETEEN <groan, wheeze, ripping my clothes and throwing ashes>, but I don’t even get to surprise her with a gift.  I feel very sorry for myself. 

At least BoBo’s best gift in the world is still a secret and so is Geoff the Great’s.  And I guess so is Charley’s. Which reminds me… hey Charley, I forgot what day your b-day actually is… is it the 3^rd?

In other news, Emmiko told me that she wanted to set up a little tent by our Mongolian tree, which, incidentally has given me a terrible craving for Mongolian bar b que – another thing that you cannot find in TN.  

January 14th, 2008 - Posted in Uncategorized | | 0 Comments

So I emailed my favorite Canadian chum and asked her what she was making for dinner (I am trying to incorporate more options into my standard chicken curry, spaghetti, or tacos menu), and she tried to astound me by saying she made kabobs.  And I was duly impressed until I scrolled down and saw the picture that she (considerately) snapped of her great epicurean masterpiece… which happened to be a burnt hotdog impaled on a chopstick.  I can always count on her to make me snort.

Anyways, Coie took me to the eye doctor on Tuesday.  And it was a good thing that I didn’t give it too much thought beforehand, because I forgot to remember that I have a great aversion to (many) nurses and practically *all* doctors.  And there’s a reason for this.  It’s because I think I’m smarter than every single one of them.  Seriously.  First of all, I was smart enough *not* to waste eight years and thousands of dollars by going to college.  Secondly, I’m an expert when it comes to anything “me” related. Therefore, I already know that I know more about me than they do.  I spend the most time with me, I’ve know me longer than any other person I’ve ever known, I have always taken careful consideration when anything happens to potentially threaten the health of me or cause potential pain or discomfort, annoyance, irritation, or boredom.  Therefore, whenever someone claims to know anything more about me than I do, I have an overwhelming impulse to become impossible to manage. 

I can’t help it. I figure it’s my job to tell them what’s wrong with me and then it’s their job to do whatever I tell them to fix me. And as a caveat, I don’t have a problem with *real* authority – for instance, policemen, and that sort, I am happy to submit with cheerfulness (or at least try to, or pretend to). And that also includes other authority types, like my husband or church leadership, etc.  But when non authority-types (doctors, dentists, public school administrators, counselor types, etc) starts dictating, then I feel it’s my responsibility to remind them that they wield no actual power.  It’s for the sake of all of my fellow plebeians that I do this (ok… it’s really because my pride gets the best of me, but *whatever*) 

Now don’t get me wrong, I actually ended up liking my new eye doctor and all of the nurses there, but inevitably I couldn’t get out of there without asserting my non-conformist-ness.  It started out all right, even tho the registration nurse kept calling me Jean a fur.  That’s a horrible thing to call a person.  “Jeeeeeeeeeeen a fur… sweetie, you done fergot to sign this here form, honey”  So anyways, they finally called me back, “Jeeeeeeeeeeen a fur… honey, jist come on back here, have a seat and put yer little chin rawht thar”.  I complied most willingly and stared at a blurry picture of a farmhouse while they snapped pictures of my blue-peepers.  .. it was right after that when the trouble started.  She said, “Ok, now move over here and put your chin here and open your eye real wide”  It wouldn’t have been a problem except that if I obeyed her, my eyeball would have been directly in the line of fire from a diabolical contraption that looked like a machine gun.  That’s when my porkypine quills poked up.

“Nuh-uh” said I.  She looked at me like she didn’t understand.

“Just sit right there, honey” she repeated. 

“No thanks” I said, “I know what that thing is.  It’s an eye poofer; I’ll pass”. 

She looked a little confused and said, “It don’t hurt at all, sweetie, it just blows a puff of air into your eye so we can test for glaucoma”.

“Nope” I smiled while I said it so as not to appear rude.

“Well,” quoth she, “It’s something that’s required, so just sit right there and it’ll be over in a second” 

Silly her; that’s where she turned down the wrong path.  I’m the one paying THEM money, which means she has to do what *I* say, and not the other way around

“Forget it” I said, which, you have to admit is nicer than saying “Oh yeah? Why don’t you just come over here and try to MAKE me”.

So once again I got the long exasperated sigh and the eye roll / head shake and she led me back to the exam room.  And apparently she tattle-taled on me because the first thing the doctor said when he came in was, “…so I see you refused the glaucoma test; but you know, you really do *have* to do it”.  To which I just laughed and told him, “Look, I am *not* taking that test”.  And at that point he could tell I was an irrational crazy lady and immediately yielded, and he said, “Ok, just as long as you promise not to hobble in here when you’re 70 and try to sue me for negligence”. 

“Deal” said I. 

And then the rest of the appointment went swimmingly.  See?  If they understand that you cannot be intimidated or cowed like a little preschool child they will stop harassing you.  And afterwards when I had to pick out my frames, I was so very pleasant and quick about it that the nurse said I was the easiest most least-pickiest-frame-chooser she ever met.

So the moral of the story is, “you know more than you think you do; don’t ever get forced or guilt tripped into having something done to you (or to your kids) that doesn’t make sense or that you know isn’t entirely essential.

My husband, on the other hand, does not think this is necessarily a good trait and has pretty much stopped coming with me to appts. since he knows I will inevitably embarrass him. 

The End.

PS  they said I need bifocals!  How little old lady-ish.  I told them forget it, I would only take farsighted ones.  And they’re very nerdy frames, just like I was hoping for.  All in all, it was a very pleasant day.  Oh, and Coie submitted to the eye poof test.  She totally takes after her dad.

January 10th, 2008 - Posted in Uncategorized | | 0 Comments

And speaking of all time favorite books, wanna hear why I’m beside myself with absolute glee?  My son, Bo, has had this set of three books, called, The Kingdom Series, by Chuck Black (Multnomah Press), for about two years.  And he reads them over and over and over and over and over again.  And I always ask him, “How come you keep reading those same three books when you already know what’s going to happen?”  To which he can only shake his head and smile at the silliness of such a question.  And you should see these copies… they have been read so much that they are tattered and battered and in all around sad shape. 

So this last weekend we were driving home from church and I turn around and see him reading Book Two for the fifteen time, and he looks up and says, “Mama, do you think you could find Mr. Black’s address so I could write him a letter and tell him how much his books mean to me?”  And this is nothing new, actually, because he becomes emotionally attached to all of his favorite authors.  He also tells me that he hopes his head off that J.R.R. Tolkien was saved and is in heaven so that he can become friends with him when he gets there.  But anyways, he tells me his wish to write Mr. Chuck Black a letter, and while I’m thinking, “Child, please don’t grow up to be a creepy author stalker” I am also struck with an idea for his birthday present (in March)…

… so the next day, I got online and found the web page for The Kingdom Series, and lo and behold, to my delight I discovered that 3 more books have been added to the series!  And then, since I am shameless and am very good at being obtrusive, I emailed the author about my obsessive stalker son, and Mr. Black said he would send the books out personally, signed to Bo, and with a special message !!!  Ok, my son is going to simply catapult thru the roof when he gets this.  I don’t know how I am going to wait until March to give him his surprise. 

So anyhow, as you can imagine, I am overwhelmed with delight at the kind thoughtfulness of my son’s hero – what a truly nice man to do that for him.  And, as you can also see, I’ve added a link to The Kingdom Series webpage. See it?  Yep, right there to the left. Over the last couple years, whenever friends have asked what good or worthwhile books my kids read, this series is always my first and highest recommendation.  They are godly and adventurous.  You ought to buy book one to see for yourself – but I can pretty much guarantee you will go back and buy the rest of the set, and be prepared to not see much of your reader for the next couple of days when they come in.

In other news, guess what I’m getting today? Eyeball glasses.  As if I needed something more to enhance my already dorky persona.  Coie’s getting ‘em, too.  Some people look classy or dignified with glasses.  Not us.  So this will be delightfully fun.  And it will also be helpful because heavens-to-betsy, I jist caint see werth a hooooot.  Pictures of said dorkettas in their new glasses may, or may not, appear within the next week.

And lastly, I keep forgetting to tell you that we got a ping pong table.  What’s even more interesting, is that it just so happens (as I’ve newly rediscovered) that I’m the ping pong champion of the world (with the exception of my father-in-law who happens to be the ping pong champion of the universe, but luckily he lives in MI so my title does not feel as threatened).  And amazingly, I’ve also discovered that my daughter, Coie, has inherited my particularly perfect ping pong proficiency.  I am so proud.  The girl can’t dance, but boy howdy can she pong!

January 8th, 2008 - Posted in Uncategorized | | 0 Comments

Ok, I’m done now.  I’m ready to go back to being too hot.  We’ve been using our woodstove –exclusively– to heat the house, which is cheap, cozy, lovely, marvy, and other words that mean great, BUT I have to admit it has limitations.  First of all, while the living room can stay relatively warm… the rest of the house can not.  My bedroom, cannot.  My bathroom, cannot times two.  Thus, I have the dilemma of showering in a meat locker; which is bad enough, yet the unpleasantries burgeon on account of having a weak little, feeble, enervated sissy crybaby for a hot water heater.  You never know exactly how long it’s going to hold out – you only know that it aint gonna be long.  So decisions have to be made.  Do I wash my hair, or shave my armpits?  So, this may be a long three months.

In non bathroom related news, James got his very first bicycle, and he got it with his own Christmas money.  And I cannot keep him off of it.  It’s a little tiny two-wheeler with training wheels; it’s been way too cold to play outside so he’s been peddling that thing around the house in circles.  It’s actually pretty cute.  And he can’t believe that it’s actually his.  Every couple of hours he asks, “I keep this mommy?” to which I say, “Yep. It’s yours” and he just grins and softly sighs, “Oooooh tank you mommy!” and then peddles away. 

Lastly, I think my favorite part of the day is bedtime.  I don’t know if the rest of you are like this, too, but I can’t think of anything more entertaining than dreaming.  It’s always different; it’s always interesting; it’s like lying around watching movies only without actually being lazy.  The only downside is that you have to do it exclusively with your own self and you can’t eat snacks in the process.  The other night I had this really abnormal shocking dream, and it woke me up out of a dead sleep and I thought, “Oh good, I’m glad I woke up because now I’ll remember it and can tell everybody” (side note – the rest of my family finds this dreadful, but I make them suffer thru them anyways).  But to my dismay, during the day I could not recall it.  I only knew that it was monumental.  So last night, I ended up having the exact same dream. No kidding. And it really was shocking.  And sort of gruesomely violent, but I’m going to put it down anyways because it was so realistic and I want to remember this one…  I was kneeling on a wooden floor about to be shot in the back of the head.  I wasn’t afraid, and then the shooter fired and in my dream I actually felt the bullet slam into the back of my head and throw me forward onto my face.  It was an exploding pressure, but it didn’t necessarily hurt and it felt like an electric shock went thru my brain and then my whole head went numb.  And as I was laying there, I thought to myself, “Hey, I thought everyone said that people die instantly when they get shot in the head” and I even had an urge to tell the guy who shot me, “hey guess what? I’m totally still conscious” but then I realized that I had lost all power of speech — and the thought occurred to me that nobody will ever know the truth that gunshot wounds to the head still leave you conscious for several seconds.  And all this happened within three or four seconds, and then I felt my life ebbing away and truly felt myself losing consciousness and I cried out (in my mind) to Jesus that he would hurry up and come get me. 

Told you it was violently weird.  And like I said, I would have never remembered it except that I had the same dream twice.  I wonder how Joseph or Daniel would have interpreted that one… 

cuh-reepy

PS This morning I was giving my kids a goverment lesson and telling them about the primaries, the Iowa caucas and the competitors, and Dippy piped up to announce that he hopes the ‘black guy’ wins because all black guys are cool.   I can’t argue with him there… too bad Alan Keys in not a major contender

January 4th, 2008 - Posted in Uncategorized | | 0 Comments