Sometime in the wee hours this morning I woke up and heard Alex talking. He had gotten out of his bed, walked downstairs, come into our room, and apparently decided that he’d just talk until one of us decided to talk back to him. So I asked him what he wanted, and he said, “Oh, Mama! I want some chocolate candy!”

I explained that he couldn’t have chocolate candy what with it being DARK O’CLOCK and all, so he said, “Oh! Okay, Mama! Can I get in the bed with you and Daddy?”

I was too tired, honestly, to refuse him.

So he climbed up in bed, got in between D. and me, and continued to talk about the chocolate candy, and his froggie, and his bad dream, and the trade crisis in Central Asia (okay. maybe not that. but he was talking a LOT). Eventually we both went back to sleep, and when I got up this morning he was still in the bed with us.

I tried to gently crawl out of the bed so I wouldn’t wake up the little man – but as soon as my knee slid against the fitted sheet he popped up like a jack in the box.

I ruffled his hair a little and said, “Good mornin’, buddy – did you sleep good?”

He squinted at me and said, “Yeah. I sleep good, Mama.”

I got out bed, intent on Finding Coffee, and as I was walking out of the bedroom I heard Alex say, “Mama?”

“What, baby?” I answered.

“Did I sleep in the bed with our family last night? Did I sleep in the bed with you and Daddy – with our family?”

Something about the way he said it – something about his realization that yes, we are a family – it just took my breath away.

I could not love him more.

The mamas at Alex’s Mother’s Day Out are an intimidatingly (is that a word? it is now, I guess) fashionable bunch. Even their workout clothes are cute, because apparently there are entire workout ensembles that one can purchase and lo, even wear when exercising. It probably goes without saying that said ensembles are a smidge more sophisticated than the t-shirts and shorts you’ll find in my closet.

It’s always fun for me to check out what they’re wearing – because while I like to be a little sassy and all, most of the other mamas are Sassy, and some are even SASSY, and a few are downright SASSY! because, I mean, they WORK IT OUT.

Which is why the news that I have to share with you is so disturbing.

Because I may or may not have seen one of the SASSY! mamas wearing the following:

Oh I’m not kidding.

If you were able to zoom in very closely on that label, you would see that it says two words that haunt us all, two words we never, ever thought we’d have to see on our clothes again (unless we found ourselves trapped inside a Merry-Go-Round museum):

MEMBERS ONLY.

Oh yes, interpeeps.

MEMBERS ONLY.

I know I mentioned here that the 80’s fashion comeback scares me, and several of you mentioned Members Only jackets in the comments. I really couldn’t fathom, though, that anyone would want to wear one of those again, what with all the unnecessary straps and snaps and the wide elasticized waistband and so on.

But apparently, at least according to one particular SASSY! mama, a Members Only jacket with LEGGINGS and some FLATS is a good look for fall.

I just didn’t think it would come to this, people. But since it has, I hereby abandon all hopes for Fall ’06 sassiness. The skinny jeans were bad enough. But the Members Only jackets have pushed me right over the edge.

So I beg you: please don’t cave! Don’t start looking at that parachute-esque fabric and thinking about how practical it would be, how you could just wipe the spit up or ketchup right off of it and be none the worse for the wear. Because that’s how the devil works, I’m telling you. That’s how he works!

You’ll start with the Members Only jacket because it’s “utilitarian,” and the next thing you know you’ll be tying a scarf around your head in a big bow, cutting the necklines out of your sweatshirts, and wearing lace leggings underneath your miniskirts.

And the designer evildoers will cackle with glee.

BE STRONG, INTERNETS!

FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT’S HOLY, BE STRONG!

Before I begin, I feel somewhat obligated to tell you that I just took a bite of a Hershey’s nugget, and my immediate reaction was, “Hey. This tastes like Cheetos.” But instead of spitting it out, I let it settle into my “palate” a bit, and you know, chocolate with a hint of cheesiness is actually pretty good.

But it may not be a great idea to keep chocolate so close to industrial-sized bags of Cheetos in the pantry. I’m just sayin’.

Anyhoo. I’ve gotten a few giggles from my inbox lately, and I thought I’d share.

A couple of nights ago I was, as my mama says, “checking the email” one last time before bed, and I had a note from my dear friend Merritt Leigh that read as follows:

“You seem a little foggy lately…sort of out of sorts…how do I describe it? Anyway, may I be the first to predict: you’re pregnant. You know your mind goes to pot as soon as you conceive the second child. Let me know when/if tests confirm this fact.”

As soon as I read the email, I picked up the phone and called her.

When Merritt answered, she didn’t even say “hello?” Instead, she said, in very hushed, muffled tones that are usually reserved for people who do All The Spying, “Youare?”

“WHAT?” I replied.

“Youare?”

“What am I?”

“You’re pregnant?”

“NO. I’m NOT pregnant. I’m just crazy. And tired.”

“Okay. Okay. But are you sure?” [PLEASE NOTICE THAT MY FRIEND OF OVER TWENTY YEARS WAS NOT IN THE LEAST BIT CONCERNED THAT I CONFESSED TO THE CRAZINESS.]

“YES, I’m sure.”

Because here’s the thing: I’m fairly confident that if I were pregnant, I would in fact be the first to know.

Well, the first besides God.

And I wish I had some sort of hormonal explanation / justification for my recent bout with adult-onset ADD (totally just made up that condition. thank you). All I can figure is that I’m losing cognitive ability in direct proportion to the rate that the toddler is acquiring it.

Lea Margaret also emailed me about “the big news” – and I got a little tickled that my friends now think that if I were pregnant, I would immediately announce it to the whole wide world interweb before I told them. I mean, I do still know how to use the phone, in addition to the email, and if there’s ever cause to deliver Exciting Pregnancy News, I’ll utilize those means of communication before I broadcast the status of my reproductive life to the internet. Promise.

So then I saw an email from Folgers, and I couldn’t imagine why in the world they’d care about the non-baby, but as it turned out they just wanted to send me some samples of some new gourmet coffee product, to which I replied, “SURE! BRING ON THE FREE STUFF!”

Because really, there’s nothing that my empty womb and I enjoy more than a hot mocha beverage.

Okay. Most of y’all know that Emma Kate is my best friend from college.

And probably most of y’all know – because you read Sarah’s blog – that Erin is one of her best friends from college.

So about a month ago Erin, who has a blog of her own now, emailed me a sweet note and mentioned where she lived and I was all, “NO WAY – my friend Emma Kate only lives about 30 minutes from you.” We emailed some more, and eventually I gave Erin and Emma Kate each other’s contact info.

And today they’re going to lunch.

Does this strike anyone else as A BUNCH OF INTERNET CRAZINESS?

I mean, Sarah and I email almost every single day, and we haven’t had a chance to meet in person yet, but two of our best friends are getting together for lunch right about, oh, this very second?

Blows my mind.

Please feel free to join me in my astonishment and wonder.

Okay so let’s just say – hypothetically, of course – that late yesterday afternoon I couldn’t stand it any longer, and because I am but a weak vessel, my car magically steered itself to the nearest Dairy Queen where I enjoyed a delicious peanut butter cup Blizzard.

Because it totally happened, except for the whole “car magically steered itself” part.

You see, I actually drove my car WITH GREAT INTENTION to the DQ, oh yes I did. And I only got a small Blizzard, which was really a significant accomplishment because I had thought about the delicious peanut butter cup concoction for so long yesterday that I could’ve easily bought the convenient IV-bag size Blizzard if they sold one – and then hooked myself up to it right there in the Dairy Queen parking lot.

So I was pretty proud that I only got a small.

Anyway, I was in a long line at the drive-thru, and when I finally got to the intercom thing-y, I placed my order, which may or may not have also included a hamburger.

(Oh, I was on my way to a meeting and it was suppertime and I was hungry. I AM NOT A ROBOT, PEOPLE!)

Anyway, after I gave the DQ guy my order, here was his response:

“I’m so sorry, ma’am. I was having a hard time finding where to ring up your [ALLEGED!] hamburger on the register, so if you wouldn’t mind, could you please repeat your order?”

I was thrown off just a bit because for a moment I believed that I had been transported from the highway 280 corridor to some sort of alternate universe, a universe of Fast Food Workers Who Care and, not only that, who want to Make A Difference. I mean, I don’t know about you, but the normal level of fast food service that I get is somewhere along the lines of “CanItakeyourorder? Huh? What? Wantfries? Huh? Yeah. Nine-oh-four. Firstwindow.”

So I gave him my order again, and then he said – THEN he said: “Thank you, ma’am, for repeating your order. I appreciate it. I am so sorry for the inconvenience.”

Now I know I live in the South, where we pride ourselves on hospitality and kindness. But this guy – this Dairy Queen guy? He should get, like, an award or something. Seriously. I wanted to make him a sticker for his nametag that said, “I’m The Nicest Cash Register Guy Evir.” I wanted to run over to Lowe’s and buy him a plant. I wanted to tip him.

Once I got to the window and gave him my money, he named my items as he handed them to me: “Your [ALLEGED!] hamburger, ma’am? Your peanut butter cup Blizzard, ma’am?”

And I just stared back at him all glassy-eyed, totally refreshed by an encounter with someone who actually seemed to like people and enjoy his job. If I had his parents’ phone number, I would call them and tell them how well-behaved their son is. They should be proud.

Honestly, his sweet disposition had such an impact on me that I’m thinking about going back to Dairy Queen before church tonight so that I can support a business with such polite employees.

And maybe get another Blizzard.

It would be a completely selfless act of encouragement on my part.

The Southern girl in me should’ve known to post a video of somebody falling. But still – those anchorpeople were FUNNY.

Perhaps this will serve as my pennance.

:-)

There’s a “real” post forthcoming. Todd just keeps sending me funny stuff and I get all sidetracked.