Although it's true that 99.99 percent of the world doesn't give a damn what I'm doing, it's possible that the cherished few of you who actually keep up with me here or on Facebook are wondering what the hell happened to me.

Did I die? Did I just throw in the towel? Did my computer blow up? All totally reasonable conclusions, but the answer was "c."

Yes, my third baby stopped working, and I've been computer-less for an entire week. I figured I'd have some great epiphanies to share with everyone about being more present and engaged or something deep like that,
but I'm happy (I guess happy) to report that I'm as equally present and engaged even with a computer screen glued to my face for a good number of hours each day (after all, if I didn't pay some attention to the family, I wouldn't have anything to complain about).

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The one scary thing I did discover was that my brain is now hardwired to think in Facebook posts.

Anyway, I have mixed feelings about my little cyber vacation. On the one hand, it was a relief to have an excuse not to write, Facebook, or tweet incessantly. On the other, I missed not being able to write anything at all.

I have a sappy Thanksgiving/Black Friday blog post about regret -- my grandma loved a certain sweet potato casserole, and I never made for her again before she died. And I never did go buy my mom a digital picture frame even though it was one of the few things she ever mentioned she wanted. So I could hit you all with that sad business. But instead, I'll show you what you missed while my computer was sleeping. . .

This time, a whole herd of wild horses ended up not just in our neighborhood, but on our lawn. About a dozen of them. Being the responsible mom that I am, I let the kids get unreasonably close to them until my husband came out and told them to back off so they wouldn't get kicked (the kids, not the horses). I get a little distracted when I'm taking movies.

We scarred the children for life by taking them out to watch turkeys get slaughtered. I know it's starting to sound like I'm really outdoorsy and rural and farmy with all the horses and the turkeys and whatnot, but I'm really, really not.

I've never killed anything, and the fact that I could still eat Thanksgiving dinner after experiencing the whole blood draining, feather plucking, gut cleaning fiasco is really quite astounding. Especially when the smell of chicken being cooked sometimes makes me gag.

I got crafty. Yes, I. Got crafty. We cored out mini pumpkins and stuck candles in them to decorate the tables (we had sixteen people for Thanksgiving).

And then I started acting like someone from one of those blogs that always get tagged on Pinterest, and I made little root people-ish things out of parsnips and peppercorns.

This is where we went a little bonkers. Someone said, "It would be so funny if we dressed them like Pilgrims." And no, we hadn't been drinking. So my brother-in-law (who is certifiable) made tiny pilgrim hats and outfits out of paper.
And then, of course, we made a sign for the Mayflower.

It was all fine and good until today when we decided to use the parsnips in some soup. My husband peeled them, and we discovered the horrible truth -- the pilgrims were racists. Who knew the KKK went back that far.
Happy Late Thanksgiving everybody. Hope it was a good one.


* I shouldn't HAVE to say it, but all photos are by me, Tammy Soong, a.k.a. Partly Sunny. Don't steal. That's so uncool.


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