Terrorist acts. Death and destruction.
More snow. Finally.
Controversy. Over anything and anybody.
Hungry birds. Note: I wrote “hungry” not “angry.”
Little girls who wake up in the middle of the night, procure a hidden flashlight, and read Calvin and Hobbes until the wee hours of the morning.
More snow. Thank the Goddess. (About an inch in the last 30 minutes! Yay!!)
Tired little girls, still asleep.
Bins of holiday decorations to be decorating with. Oh hell’s bells, I’ll just say it. Christmas decorations. But, as per earlier post, Christmas to me is so much more than a concocted story about three very, very rich men (Think Fiddler on the Roof here, remember that very Jewish song? Loved that musical. But I digress. As per usual.)–back to the rich dudes traveling to see a baby in the hay. Just like I told Jeb! not to ruin my JOY, I’m gonna say this, and I seriously don’t expect a lightning bolt to drop out of the sky (mostly cause it’s just humongously big flakes falling right now), but Christians, please don’t be ruining my Christmas for me with your fabricated outrage at the way some of us heathens/pagans celebrate the season. There. I’m out of the closet again. That feels so much better.
Now I’m going to go check on the still slumbering sweetness in the back room. Tonight I’m thinking I’m going to do have to perform a flashlight raid. Maybe a book raid as well, but with the sheer number of books in her room, that would really be a stupid task to undertake. I’ll settle on absconding with the flashlights. If I can find them all. Methinks there are several hidden in strategic spots. That child.
I’m also off to snap a couple of pictures of the white stuff. So pretty. As per usual. If I can get them to transfer as they should between all of these nifty Apple products, then I’ll update this post.
Blessings be this wintry Monday morning.
Vaya con dios. (See, I can be reasonable.)
UPDATE: Cynthia Lummis is resigning! Yay, yay, and more yay. Woo hoo hoo hoo hoo. This makes me all kinds of happy. Sort of along the lines of the John Boehner resignation (in my very humble opinion). HOWEVER, what makes me all kinds of unhappy is that Ms. Liz Cheney (yes, that Cheney) of the resident-fishing-license acclaim, the “I’m a Wyomingian because my dad was a long time ago and I’ve lived in Wilson-sort of- all of a few months.” That Liz Cheney. Ewwwwww. Gross. That sort of put a damper on my happy dance. Trading one for the other is like trading cooked spinach for cooked Swiss chard. Ewwwww. Ick.
And so it goes.