Dear America

It's Thursday, Y'all, and it's been a while. These two statements are not related what-so-ever. 

Y'all know we moved, right? Well, that was a Baker Actable experience (All the Floridians understand!) in which I may or may not write about. I want to and it's hilarious, but the way this blog thing has gone lately...well...ya know. I don't want to just outright lie.

To keep things super anti-boring, which I am, we had some of our favorite Floridians come spend the weekend with us 6 short days after we moved in. Cause we're rollin', and <sing Montel Jordan here or you won't be reading it right> this is how we do it.

There's also this little matter of schoolin' these crazy little world changers! Listen. My kids are 98.4% Grade Awesome and their standard of schooling is, too. They are not members of the "C's Get Degrees" Club, of which I may or may not have been the president. Somebody has taught them nonsense about "excellence" & "quality" & "diligence" reflecting character. It's spectacular, really. This school load is killing me and not even softly. (Do you sing it Roberta Flack or Lauryn Hill? I gotta know.) Plus, they are hogging my Mac. 

Anyway, I digress.

Since it's Thursday and it's been a while, I've got a few little letters for ya. They range from Shallow to Snarky to Jesus, much like your writer. Enjoy.

Dear America,
Pinterest is not for boys.
I pinned a similar folding-table contraption on Saturday morning.
The Spouse & Little Sister took a mad fast run to
Home Depot, came back & did work
on this little bad-boy before, during half-time, and between football games.
For the win.

Dear America,
Chatting with this little lady about a recent tragic event. The ever-present question "Why?" was asked. She said, "I can tell you why. I know exactly why. It's the devil. We need Jesus."
Amen, Sister. Amen.

Dear America,

Miss-chee-vee-uss is not a word.

That is all.

Dear America,
No, Honey. Just no.
The fact that the parking lot is near empty is irrelevant.

Dear America,

This is part of the 98.4% Awesome of the Big Sister. Her assignment was to brainstorm ideas for a persuasive paragraph. Now she could have gone deep about ending modern-day slavery or Creation or something, but she went to sweaty palms & sweaty breasts. She is my child. 

So, let the child lead us to the Classy Place where women no longer put phones in their bras.

<P.S. Views expressed in persuasive paragraphs by the churrin' are not necessarily the views of the parents. I have never told my churrin' that everybody should homeschool. I have, in fact, discussed the disturbance of the bra phone. Yes, I noticed the incorrect "there". I was blinded by the brilliance & I don't correct this jazz in a brainstorm. She ended up going with the "Holding hands in church". She has issues with this that I do not share, but like a good parent, I laugh at hilarity. .>

Dear America,

Lord willing, my next blog post will be sans glasses or contacts.

I am pumped like a Reebok in 1991. 

While I think my little glasses the Big Sister chose are cutesy, 

being able to see is going to be supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. 

So, here they are for the last time. If you think about it in the next few hours, 

go ahead and mention my name to Jesus.