Paige, at age eleven, thinks she is boss. Of everything. And everyone. The other day she was bossing Makenna around. Ordering her to do this and to do that. Finally, fed up with all the dictatorship, she says to Paige:
"One day you're gonna be old and you're gonna need my help and I'm not gonna give it to you"
Paige had no response. This led me to believe that I needed to be good to Makenna because one day I WILL be old and I WILL need her help and if I've pissed her off too badly at some point and time in her life, she might just hold out on me and not lend a helping hand!
We had a good Southern evening here. The weather is absolutely perfect, folks. I'm talking upper 60's...no humidity...and there's a hurricane brewing in the Atlantic. What did I tell you? Good weather = catastrophe.
I cut the grass this good evening, and as I cut, I could smell the chickens my Dad was cooking on his back porch. I made a mental note not to tell Fred what we were having to eat because it simply wasn't fair that he's stuck on some halfway done submarine doing duty whilst we enjoyed life. Man, was it good. Perfect even.
After supper we're sitting on the front porch watching the kids play whilst we rocked under the slow moving ceiling fans. My SIL proceeds to tell us that my brother has to go out of town next week for work. He has to fly. He has never flown. I just start laughing. This guy is so safe in his comfort zone, it would take a HUGE stick of dynomite to get him out....or a boss who gives him no choice. She says he asks last night....what am I doing to do? I can't take my knife or my gun with me. (He has a license to tote, friends. He's a by-the-book-kind-of-guy..mostly) She simply looks at him and says: Duck. and RUN. After thinking about it, he says...I AM quick. This is going to be the highlight of my month, I'm sure. He is going to be a freaking basket case about flying and Mr. Tuff Guy would die before he lets it show. Maybe he'll pass out for like a minute. (insert evil grin) I mean, he's just so macho and cool....being brought down a peg would be too sweet for me. I'll never know though, because he'd lie before he'd admit it. Especially to me.
Yes, I've flown. And I hated it. I told my husband that if anyone in his family gets real sick or even tries to die, they need to give us at least 3-4 days notice so we can drive there. I'm not joking. And with the price of gas (paid $2.97 a gallon this morning) as it is...they better be durn serious about being sick or dead.
And I would be completely remiss if I didn't tell you about our new discovery here. We are a Pop Tart family. I like to buy the chocolatey ones so if I am having an incredible craving at night, I can munch on one instead of a candy bar (which I do not purchase to come into my house anyways). They have pulled one over on us, folks. They now have Strawberry Milkshake. Lawd. It's so bad, I have a box hid. The kids are vicious and are like bloodhounds. They can sniff the good stuff out in seconds. You simply must try them. We don't even cook them. They are that good.
And that's the news for today. Nothing spectacular or adrenaline inducing. But I'm to the point in my life that when Fred asks me if anything has happened today....I am thrilled when I can report NO! Let's keep it smooth and easy, people. Mama likes it that way.