Facebook just told me to "update The Mrs", and I think he (Facebook is a guy, right?) meant something else, but then I realized that even though he probably meant "do something something to Facebook because WE NEED MORE INFORMATION ABOUT YOU SO WE CAN SELL YOU WEIGHT LOSS PLANS", it probably won't hurt to update the real The Mrs while I'm sitting here
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(Awkward silence as we both realize that I have absolutely nothing of consequence to say.)
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Tomorrow I have another super important secret meeting for which I will again be donning my girdle. I'm looking forward to not having to suck in my post-three-babies-belly for three hours. And looking like a human adult instead of a nineteen year old college student whose worn pyjamas for the last week.
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Speaking of human adults, I broke out the wagon for the walk to and from school, and now get to school and back at the pace of a normal human adult instead of a toddler looking for sticks.
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Speaking of toddlers, we went out trick-or-treating for the first time ever with Norah and Oscar. They think that everyone only goes to four houses. They were delighted with getting to pick out two pieces of candy to eat and surrendering the rest to be doled out as we deemed necessary. They didn't memorize the contents of their (meagre) haul, and we have therefore eaten most of it.
In summary: Halloween with little kids that don't know any better than what you tell them is pretty awesome.
(I have another story to tell you about Norah's tutu. You will love it...three months from now when I actually get my shit together enough to actually write it.)
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Oh. Hello. I didn't hear you come in. I was busy being warm and gooey.
Say hello to my new friend, Cheesy Zucchini Quinoa from Closet Cooking. Unless talking to something you're about to ingest isn't your style, in which case...why are you here again? Because here is only for crazy folks.
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Speaking of crazy folks, I made this too (and put it up on my Pinterest Stuff I've Actually DONE! board*). It looks pretty, but it didn't taste pretty.
Not even drowned in sour cream and bacon, which means whoever wrote this recipe is an enormous loser who I hate. ← not an exaggeration
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Seth came home with swords last week. Now every night looks like this:
THE END.
*Why don't you have a board like that?**
**Or why didn't you ever tell me you have a board like that? Can't we be all Pintesty together? Leave a link to it in zee comments, please, orIwillcutyouwithmysword.
