… who is the fairest of them all? 

It’s a magic mirror, only visible to true princesses.

Do you see it? 

Last night as we were hauling our tired, boated bodies into bed, The Daddy and I agreed to both try and cut down on the amount of junk we eat. We have been in vacation mode for too long as regards food, throwing back beer and dessert and pizza and cookies with blatant disregard for our health or for whether our shorts would even fit the following day.

T-Bot was either listening at the door or he is psychic. I am going with psychic. This morning he announced that he was going to prepare me a “Yummy, Yummy Breakfast” and that I was to sit at the dining room table and wait. After being called back briefly to peel my own carrot and chop my own apple I was presented with my meal. 

“Oh!” I said weakly, “That looks yummy and very … healthy!” 

“Yes,” he said, with a satisfied grin, “It is yummy! I’m going to sit here and watch you eat it!” 

On Friday night all 3 kids stayed up until 10pm watching the light show from our yard. Yes, really. There were so many fireworks being sent up just in our neighborhood that we didn’t even have to leave the property. It was very exciting. Oh, the jumping! The screaming! The glee!

We are still paying for it, though. Saturday morning T-Bot and Baby Sister slept in until 7.15, a measly 30 minutes over our previous record. So we had time to kill before it was time to drive Aunty B to the airport, where she was catching a plane to Mexico. I hoped they would sleep in the car during the hour-long ride but only The Wictor did, and he had been awake since 6.30. 

And then he was rudely awakened by Baby Sister’s screeches when we arrived at Terminal E and Aunty B took her suitcase out of the trunk. Baby Sister did not want to lose her friend Auntie B, and rightly so. Because she was tired, her pain was multiplied. She screamed all the way home.

When she had been through a few thousand repetitions of “I want Aunty B! I miss Aunty B!” she lost McDonalds Playplace privileges, so she switched to “I don’t want to drive thru! I wanna go to the Playplace!” And then she alternated. When her conditions did not improve she brought out the big guns. “I don’t wanna live with you any more! “ 

In the meantime we missed our freeway intersection. Then the next available route. And a third, which meant we had to do a U-turn. By the time we got off the freeway The Daddy was so frazzled he declared he couldn’t even cope with the drive thru. So we switched places and I drove, but I was so stunned I couldn’t remember the way home. 

By the time we found our house, after one and one half hours of wailing , the likes of which I have never heard and hope never to hear again, Baby Sister was running out of steam. 

“Mommy, I am sorry,” she whimpered, staring up at me with big damp eyes, “it’s so hard to be good and not scream, when you miss Aunty B and want to go to the Playplace. “ 

What could I say? Just like that, all was forgiven. 

And last night was an early bedtime, for all. 

You must all think I am so rude. All those people who have sent email and left comments. I don’t tend to reply, but I do read them and appreciate them, I really do. 

Oh, except for those emails from the last few weeks, which I didn’t appreciate - until today. No, stop! I didn’t read them until today. You see, recently I set up my blog Yahoo email to forward to my regular Yahoo email, but I was either in a hurry or I was under the mistaken impression that I was an Average Male.  

I didn’t read the instructions.

And those engineering types at Yahoo obviously like to punish anybody who doesn’t read instructions. By letting them go for weeks thinking they have set up mail forwarding - after all, the steps were followed, the mailbox was created - when, in fact, they have not.

Believe it or not (probably not) I used to be what is so quaintly termed an “IT Professional”.  I have become so lazy these days that I can’t even bother to set up a proper email account and then  - this is the crucial part - test it.

Pause to whack flat of hand dramatically on forehead.  

So, this morning, I did. You may now email me at sophie AT inzaburbs DOT com.  

I hope you will, even if it is only to reassure me that I am not senile, stupid or both. I promise I will read your emails. I think I can still remember how to read.