Someone did the nicest favor for me and I’ve been trying to come up with an appropriate thank you. Ava and I went to an antique mall today at lunch to see what we could dig up. We didn’t find exactly what we were looking for, but we did see plenty of very odd stuff.

We encountered this pathetic fellow way in the back of the store. We vaguely remember him from our childhood. He’s a piggy bank (or a puppy bank :0)). No word on whether or not he’ll perk up if you give him any money.

Then we could not be more surprised to run into a life-size bust of Pope Pius. He was a mere $900.00, which we think is a steal if you’re feeling a little low on guilt. What a lovely surprise to find in your foyer, eh?

This fellow was just lying around waiting for us to shriek upon discovering him. He still had all his feet and was easily six feet long. Ava would not try him on for you.

As best as we could tell, this is NOT the Portrait of Dorian Gray, but if you hung above your mantle we’re certain he would scare you just as much.

This might possibly be the ugliest thing we’d ever seen. It was a giant gold framed Christmas tree formed with groupings of obnoxious costume jewelry. This was both a sin against fashion and art. And just to prove that we obviously have no idea what the hell we’re talking about, a woman walking along behind us found it quite attractive.

This beer Stein was the size of a gallon of milk. Please note the swastikas. You can hardly miss them. It’s labeled Nazi Pottery Pitcher and was set to go for $200.00 AS IS. What it would cost new makes us shiver. Under what circumstances would this ever need to be manufactured?

Finally, we present to you what we’re calling Emo Shoes in Leather. We don’t know why anyone would need to have shoes with  weird Emo kids on them. Or why they would spend 45.00 on such an item.

I’m behind on the book I’m under contract to write.

As a consolation prize I give you some of my favorite all time crushes.

Humphrey Bogart so young here.

One of the most handsome men who ever lived.

Not only one of my favorite movies of all time, but also two of my biggest crushes.

Remind me to tell you sometime about the time I crashed a political party to meet Robert Redford. I was fifteen. Good story.

I was in a very fine mood yesterday. We were off work for the President’s Day holiday, but the children and My Honey had work and school anyway. Don’t feel bad for them as they have Thursday and Friday off this week instead.

I dropped the kids off then went to my favorite restaurant and enjoyed some free wifi and an omelet with the best bread in town and wrote a bunch of pages. Then I ran an errand or two before heading to Starbucks to drink a latte and write a whole bunch more pages.

Then I went antique shopping because I could.

By the time my family got home I was in a jolly mood. So good in fact, when I found my daughter alone in the kitchen, back conveniently to me as I came in the room, I took the opportunity to pants her.

Ava didn’t know what that meant. Here is the definition from the Urban Dictionary for any of the rest of you living in a vacuum. Or perhaps you didn’t have siblings or a slightly manic mother.

Anyway, this happened to Sassy in the kitchen. She stood there in her pink underpants with her shorts around her ankles and asked, “Why?”

I shrugged. “Why not?”

“You’re weird.”

“Yes,” I agreed. There is really no dispute. “Don’t feel alone. I do it to your father all the time in here.”

See, everyone thinks this is funny

I can’t help myself. Anyone who wears sweatpants in the kitchen with their iPod on deserves what they get.

She tried several times to accomplish a pantsing of her own with me. Bwahahahahahaaha. It never worked out for her.

A. I’m not stupid enough to wear elastic waist pants.

B. I’ve gained weight and my pants are too tight.

And you all thought dieting was a good idea.

Hi, I’m Joe. My full name is Joseph T. Kittywiggles, Esq. The T stands for Tiger, but I don’t use it. Middle names can often be embarrassing, you know. Ask Aunt Ava’s kids.

My mom calls me Sweet Baby Joe, and that’s not at all embarrassing.

I am very handsome, don’t you think?

I live with Amylynn. I used to come to work with her every day to keep her and the rest of her friends company at their horrible job. Sadly, the fat little man at her work said I can’t come any more. He’s a jerk and the ladies at Bank of No Forks no longer speak to him or the selfish people in the office next door who narked us out. They’ll get their due eventually. The Sisters and their friends have way too much time on their hands.

Now, I just sleep away the day with the old cat at my house. Sometimes I find all the cat toys in the house and drown them in the water bowl. Other times I stare at the blank television screen for hours because I don’t trust the tiny people in there. When the dogs come in I wrestle with the dumb one.

I stood still for exactly 12 seconds to take this picture.

You’re welcome.

I was helping The Bandit get his Valentines ready for school tonight. I have forgotten exactly how stressful this is when you’re eight. Every child is supposed to get one, which seems fine by me. The problem is deciding which ones go to the girls.

Girls are icky, you know. We got all the boys done with the cool Valentines, but what to do with the girls?

“Carla’s next,” I say.  He wrote her name on a Way 2 Cool card.

“Next is Payton. Is that a boy or a girl?” I ask. Half of the names on this list I’ve got no idea if they’re male or female. Not a clue.

“A girl,” he says.

“Is she the cute blonde one?”

Oh, the look he gives me. “NO!” Alrighty then.  She gets one covered in hearts with a basic Happy Valentine’s Day message.

“Joceyln. Lilliana. Ixta.” I rattle more names off. Ixta? What the hell is an Ixta? We spend five minutes teaching me how to pronounce it correctly.

“Jessica,” I say. The only cards left are suspect. Sweet On U is not acceptable. Neither is Happy Valentine’s Day because that one says XOXO on it and we DO NOT want Jessica to think kisses are in the offering. We went with B Mine.

“I just won’t look at her when I put it in her box.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I tell him.

“OK, how about Jazmine. Is she nice?” I ask because we’re running of cards that aren’t mushy at his point.

“She put me in a head lock.”

I start laughing. I can’t help it. “Sounds like my kinda girl.” I get another LOOK. “Besides the headlock, is she horrible?”

“No.” We agree to go with the one with the XOXO and hope for the best.

“Amber?”

“She’s taller than me,” he informs me.

“Everyone is taller than you.” That’s a fact. “But is she nice?”

“Meh.” He shrugs. B Mine, Valentine it is.

We finally finish and I’m exhausted from the negotiation. I promise him that no one is reading Valentine’s Day cards literally. Not in third grade. I search my mind for what I was like in third grade. I had a terribly crush on Robby McLay, and I’m 100% certain I read, re-read, read again and discussed with my friends what his mandatory Valentine read.

Let’s not tell The Bandit the universal truth about girls regardless of their age, huh? Also, let’s hope Jazmine doesn’t use anymore headlocks.

We give you Iron Man.

And Sherlock Holmes

And now there’s this. Dammit.

We all know it’s going to happen eventually. There’s the tell-tale clicking on our phone lines. The white panel van parked down the street. The recurring appearance of the Caprice Classic following us to the mall.

Which of our internet searches is going to be the one that convinces them we’re not just goofy, but possibly serious in our inquiries.

We may have the right to remain silent, but we rarely have the capacity.

This doesn’t look at all suspicious does it?

As the owner of a cat who is definitely NOT sane, we can really appreciate this cat. Thanks again to Aunt Debby for the heads up on this one.

My boy got a Kindle for Christmas. As part of the set up I gave him an email address that I established and set up passwords for. I am the default address so I’ll be able to keep an eye on what’s going on in there.

This weekend he asked me to show him how to use email so he could email me and his sister. I also sent the address to his grandmother.

We’ve been in a bit of an email war ever since.

My first email to him: Hi! I see you sitting over there on the other end of the couch.

Bandit: HI!

Me: You smell funny.

Bandit: Puppies are cooler than you.

Me: You, sir, are weird.

Then there’s a flurry of talk about who’s weirder and whose fault that might be.

We can hear him giggling from his bedroom where he’s supposed to be asleep, instead he’s sending me emails from his bunk bed.

Remember the good old days when you’d just holler down the hall at your kids?