We’re not AWOL although it feels like it. We’ve been drowning in our day jobs. This month has kicked our asses to an epic degree. Amylynn has actually been leaving work at 7pm and taking her computer home to do another 4 or 5 hours after everyone has gone to bed.

It’s been horrendous. We’ve been promised that the end is near. We sure as hell hope so because our grip on our “good” attitude is tenuous at best.

Ava found this on her desk calendar and it scared the bejezus out of us. She then promptly showed it to every single person in our office because this isn’t something you should have to know on your own.

Who was the person who first tasted this and thought, “Hmmmmmm - raspberry-ish.”

Was there a bet involved, do you suppose? Some old French beaver trapper made a wagered with some Native American dude? We’ll bet very strong alcohol was involved. If not, then it should have been.

This of course led us to wonder how come raspberry-flavored stuff is always blue. Now you can add to that philosophical question how come blue if beavers are brown? To the best of our knowledge, there have never been blue beavers. Although how cool would that be, huh? Blue beavers. It’s probably best they’re not blue because then we’d want one of those, too.

There are days when we’re certain we have no idea how the world works.

This woman scares me as much as I love her.

The Romance Writers of America national convention is this week. The Quill Sisters are so excited we can hardly stand it. Seriously, we’ve been bouncing around for the last month trying to contain ourselves.

Still, it’s Sunday night - we leave early Wednesday morning - and Amylynn hasn’t packed a single thing. Why is that?

Both of my children have large personalities. I think they have to in order to survive around their father and I. The girl is very dramatic, but her I understand. She’s racing into teenager-dom and nothing says drama like a 13-year-old girl. I’m certain she’ll be thrilled that I’m pointing this out on this blog. Nothing she likes more than to make an appearance here.

Good news, Sassy. This blog isn’t about you. It’s about your brother.

My boy is a champion martyr. No one can fall on a sword like my son. He mystifies me. More than half the time I don’t have any idea what his problem is or what has set him off, but he makes a hell of a scene.

I’m telling you, he just really likes to be miserable. This does not bode well for a happy life and I sincerely hope he grows out of this. His father and I refuse to buy into this tendency. When he gets up a good head of pathetic steam we generally ignore him.

But sometimes…

I have no idea what his issue was the other morning. He was walking around, all hangdog. I assume his father got after him for something, but I don’t know what it was. Sassy and I went to Target to give them a random $75. While there we received a text from the Bandit.

Come to my room sale

I had no idea what this meant so I asked.

I’m having a yard sale in my room.

I do not know what he was expecting to achieve with this. Perhaps he was planning to run away and needed some traveling money? Maybe he just wanted to travel light. I don’t know. If asked he’ll say he doesn’t deserve to have this stuff. Go ahead and roll your eyes. I did.

I already paid for all that stuff once, I said.

The boy was not amused by this flippant reply so he did the texting version of hanging up on me.

When we got home, there were signs posted all over the house offering his wares: magazines, chapter books, action figures, Legos, and Matchbox cars among the rest of the stuff I’ve already paid for.

Sadly, I don’t think he earned what he was hoping. I was going to suggest that he work on his marketing. Perhaps his immediate family isn’t his target audience.

One of these days I’m going to go in there with a stack of ones and start haggling over his prices. I curious to see how that plays out.