Greg thinks my cooking looks like an open wound.
“BETH?” he yelled from upstairs. “WHY DID YOU POST A PHOTO OF AN OPEN WOUND ON YOUR BLOG?”
Listen; with a family our size, we have to yell from one floor to the other. Yes, our parents taught us not to hollar throughout the house because we are humans and not elephants trumpeting in the wilderness —“Go FIND people and TALK TO THEM WITHOUT YELLING,” my mother would yell — but we have too many people in our house for that to work. Do you have any idea how much exercise we would get if we always talked to our people in person around here? Every request and reminder? For all five children plus the spouse? THAT’S SO MANY STAIRS TO WALK, y’all. We’d get repetitive stress injuries like extreme marathoners, and, healthcare being what it is in America, WE CANNOT AFFORD THAT. So we yell. It’s just practical. ...
I was on a quick trip with my cousin last week, and now I’m home Doing All the Laundry and Drinking All the Coffee and Being Late for All the School Drop-offs and Listening to All the Urgent MomMomMomMomMommyMoms!, but I need to interrupt All Those Fun Things to tell you what Jen and I discovered in the middle of Rachel Ray’s magazine while sitting on a boring, blissful beach in the scalding, silent sun for two whole days.