It’s finally become winter here.  It was so warm for so long, but just in the past few days the temps are in the 30s & 40s at night & evening & sometimes when we are driving off to go to school.  It’s nice.  It’s not so nice when you are running late & have a child who cannot find his jacket.  A jacket that has a clearly marked & repeatedly announced home.  Perhaps it’s the constant reminders that cause him to tune out–next time I’ll send a “We’re Moving” card & see if that does the trick.  Either way, he seems to think that his things are itinerant, gypsy-like.…

   I’ve always joked that I was the star in my own B horror film. The one where the protagonist has been telling everyone there’s danger afoot or disaster’s on its way but no one will listen. Can you picture it? The black & white film depicting a woman standing in the middle of the screen, screaming for help, eyes bulging, bent arms tucked in tightly at her sides while her hands move to the sides of her face, claw-like–camera pans to where her gaze is fixed, to show the horror that only she sees & understands? Yup, story of my life. I say something & I get poo-pooed…

I didn’t say it, Conner’s coworker did… Conner offered to write out gifts tags from Santa for a coworker, so her daughter wouldn’t recognize her handwriting.  This woman told Conner that she told her daughter that Santa isn’t real.  Yes, she has a nearly 4 year old whom she told that Santa isn’t real, just like Tinker Bell & Strawberry Shortcake aren’t real.  Now how these three were lumped together, I don’t know.  This woman’s reasoning for it is that she doesn’t want her daughter to be disappointed when she’s 7 & figures out that Santa isn’t real.  Seriously?  I think that Monkey figured out something was up with Santa…