He also wears dark socks with shorts.
I love a parade. I love The Fourth. Specifically, I love any holiday where you hafta take a day off (in a good chunk o’ industries). More specifically- when P.J. has to take day off. We didn’t travel. There were no houseguests. (And don’t get me wrong, I’ve blissed out on having some favorite friends and family here…and will continue to…until August…but our good sheets are gonna be threadbare by September. And for those who have yet to see my home? This {Read More}
Is that not the best short fiction title EVER?
I was not kidding. I’ve recently begun a new project. Which means I’ve been talking about it nonstop and whining about it to my big sister. But not so much actually “doing” it. (We all have our process, right?) And it’s a big undertaking; I’m going to attempt to scan and file every single document of importance ever, so that future generations can marvel at my utter inability to throw away a napkin. Picture this- I’ve kept a scrapbook binder of {Read More}
Cause And Effect
(Well, I did make her faster.) (And yes- she does read Reader’s Digest. That my husband stole from his folks’ house. I didn’t want anyone to have to find out this way.) (p.s. Yes. Pirates.) (Also, I am TERRIBLE at “wordless.”)
The One In Which P.J. Almost Offs Himself.
Friends, I was almost widowed this weekend. And it would’ve been painful. Painfully embarrassing, that is. For me. In less stressful times. On Friday night, after Peej’s show opened, he returned home and complained of having lower region pain. At first he thought he was dying of a hernia or something else that I didn’t take entirely seriously (because a- he is either completely fine OR on death’s doormat with no middle ground ever and b- he later told me that {Read More}
Who doesn’t love a good tummy flower?
Remember how I said that one month/six months/eleven months was my favorite age? I was wrong. Turns out, my all-time favorite is a week shy of twenty months. (It’s true.) Sure, we’re smack dab in the middle of the Terrible Twos on-ramp…which is really just a dramatic way of saying that someone is incredibly bossy and specific, with simply awful fall-out if not instantly heeded. (But I’ve worked in the theatre since the age of nine. This is nothing. Ever {Read More}
