1. I cannot remember the last time I worried that I cannot do a cartwheel or the splits. Really. This occurred to me a few days ago when Clara Jane yelled, “Look at me!” while doing the splits for the first time. That’s awesome! When did I stop caring about being able to do that? I think it was 1993.

2. I no longer pray for snow days. Partially because of the stuff I wrote on LiveFeed’s blog last night.  I’m lucky – a surprise day off school doesn’t cause a hardship in our family. Mostly, though, it’s selfishness. Clara Jane hasn’t had a full week of school in six weeks. We might go crazy on each other if this continues.

My wishes and prayers were drowned out by the bazillion people I know who wanted a snow day. I can’t say that’s a bad thing, mainly because Brian took the day off/worked from home, allowing me to sit in my favorite chair while my muscles atrophy. Seriously. I’ve always loved winter, but this one is really getting to me.

We had fun, though. First we sent Clara Jane into the front yard in her night gown to feed a flock of giant birds.
Reliving her flower girl days.

She did it flower girl-style by starting at the street end of our sidewalk, taking teeny little steps, depositing a handful of seeds on either side of her which each step. Having run out of petals during her flower girl stint a few weeks ago, this time she was rather conservative.

Filling her footprints with birdseeds.

She poured the leftover seeds into her footprints. She calls them Foot Feeders. I am confident her entreprenurial spirit will provide well for me in my old age, provided she doesn’t get hypothermia before then.

Hey! Who needs a big box of snow?
Anyone want some snow shipped to them?

Whoever’s willing to pay the shipping and handling gets  it!

While I was making my child tend to the aviary in her bare legs and shovel the side yard while I atrophied, my mother was calling me from Savannah, telling me about tulip magnolias in bloom and hanging out with Paula Deen’s hot sons.
My ma and her new friends

How much do you want to bet she’s touching their butts?

I don’t even want to hear about what she and my dad had for lunch. If it involved fried chicken and banana pudding, I’m pretty sure I’m going to die.

I care much more about fried chicken and banana pudding than I ever cared about doing cartwheels and splits.

Please, please let there be school tomorrow. I need to leave the house.