Drizzly day and what are we doing? We do not know. Mr. Moon's birthday is on Monday and last night I came up with the brilliant idea that we should finally go and buy the rocking chairs for the porch that we've been promising to get for each other on each gift-giving holiday for the last ten years.
This would be great except then we'd have nothing to say we were going to give each other on holidays.
But I think we actually might do it. We've sat in every for-sale rocking chair in existence and I swear to you- I think we're just going to go eat at Cracker Barrel and buy two of their rocking chairs.
Country livin', y'all!
I dreamed last night that I was in Las Vegas and was somehow given the job of tending President and Mrs. Obama's baby. She was the sweetest baby and smiled at everything but it was rather stressful in that I had no diapers and no supplies and of course the baby pooped because babies poop and people kept showing up to take the baby back to her parents but I DID NOT TRUST THEM and knew they were only trying to kidnap the baby.
I finally delivered the baby safely back into the hands of our president and all was well.
I had poop all over me but I didn't care. The president didn't seem to worry about getting poop on him either. I mean- baby poop. Who cares?
That has to be one of the strangest dreams I've ever had. And honey, I've had some strange ones.
Okay! I must put on a bra-like garment to go to Cracker Barrel. Breakfast out! Hurray! New rocking chairs! Hurray! The ones we have now which came with the house are so old that when you try to move one, whichever piece of the chair you pick up just lifts right off the chair. I suppose they will now be moved to the chair-in-waiting-to-be-fixed area of the garage, never to be seen again.
Dear Lord. When we die our children are going to hate us.