Oh My Goodness

It's been so long!  I promise, I do not mean to be flaky.  Things happen.  Life gets in the way and I have to play Red Rover with the things I want to do.  But I had a few minutes tonight, since I got huffy with my husband (my fault, full disclosure) and came downstairs for bedtime.  It's my version of time out, but with television and a later curfew. And blogging.  Hurrah!

So...couple of things.  House sitting for out of town family who live in the boonies has revealed a particularly shameful personal characteristic:  My addiction to scary movies - in this instance, The Strangers in particular - has directly caused my inability to stay overnight alone in a house with less than six other houses and a major road within view.  Intellectually, I know that I'm less safe in town, where there are more people which, statistically indicates a much higher likelihood of being murdered by an unstable person with a burlap sack on his head and wearing an outdated suit that I'd dare say Dwight Schrute would love for its color and texture..  Pity, too, because when I finally sell out and write a bestselling genre romance serial and get obscenely rich I plan to move to the country.  I sense that in addition to a house I'll be purchasing a large dog and setting strict rules that my husband is not permitted to leave me alone between the hours of sundown to sunup.  Ever.  Lest I go insane.  Charlotte Perkins Gilman style.

Also...I pitched an article about sleep training twins to Multiplicity Magazine and it was picked up for the spring issue.  So I guess I can say that I finally had something accepted.  I'm proud.  Forgive me my moment of basking.

Okay.  Basking done.  To finish, here are some photos of the girls playing with their dad and snugglin' with the grand 'rents before they left.  =(  I want my mommy to come home.  And so do my children.  Hear that, mom?  There is nothing for you in Florida.  Retreat!  Retreat!  Come back to the north, where we are all freezing bollocks, where I feel a bit like Jack Torrance at The Overlook, and where your grandchildren are giving me puzzled looks as if to say, "why does grandma suddenly only exist inside the R2D2 box that you constantly have pressed against your head?"

 I am actually amassing an impressive collection of photos of dad with things on his head.  I need to put together an album of just these one day.

Grandpa Jay rockin' the double baby hold.  Lookin' all like a pro and what not.  Shee-it.

Grandpa Jay and Bubba June.  Nawr.

I think we may have exceeded the carrying capacity for cuteness on this blog, though.  Just an observation.

I can't really decide who misses whom more.

And here they are.  The defectors with the children they're leaving behind.  Stone Cold, my parents.  I'm telling you what.