Gus and Heather, sitting in a tree
K-I-S-S-I-N-G.

Everything is now alphabetized by author, except for Peter F. Hamilton. We found his stack after we’d already taken care of Niven, and moving him down one shelf would have been a huge hassle. My fantasy/novels are sideways on the top shelf.

I have a laminator. It laminates things.

It laminates things so well. Pretty, shiny lamination.

…

*I CAN LAMINATE ANTS.*

_How did you find our site?_

My sister was drooling over the Pilot G-Tec C4 pens and pasted the link to me.

_What was your reason for buying?_

She’s very persuasive. And I get half of the pack. (Of course, I have to pay for my half of the pack.) Also, cool pens! Pens! And pencil sharpeners!

This is what happens when Matthew can’t find a book.

She came down the stairs shouting, “I am Super Becca!”.

I’ve just finished my shower and I’m on my way to my room when I stop to check on the kids, who are _supposed_ to be cleaning their room. Rebecca is in bed under a blanket whimpering. Marcus is frantic, jumping up and down.

“Mom, Mom, Rebecca bumped her head on the dresser!”

“Oh, dear. Okay, Rebecca, now tell me what happened.”

And she crawls out from under the blanket and it is pretty obvious that at this point, the shock of the initial injury is past and the whimpering is just looking for sympathy. “Mama, I was walking and I couldn’t see and I tripped and fell and hit my head on the dresser.”

The lights in their room are on. Every single one.

“Rebecca, why couldn’t you see? Were the lights out?”

“No, Mama, I was wearing a pillowcase on my head.”

“Rebecca, we put our head on the pillowcase, not the pillowcase on our head.”