Sweet Daughter woke up this morning, her dial set at “11”. The service at the small country church we attend doesn’t even start until SD’s bedtime, and I figured it was going to be a long day. The Christmas tree nearly went to meet its maker several times this morning as a result of sheer exuberance (“But Momma, it’s Christmas EVE!!"), and so I figured that I’d take her to McDonald’s for a bite of lunch, and a chance to burn off some energy in the play area.
We were the only ones here for a while, and I sat in a puddle of sunshine, listening to Xmas music on the computer while sewing on a banyan and sipping on a milkshake courtesy of the manager (a mistake on somebody else’s order), while she ran around like a demented monkey. Well, sans the poo flinging. Now there are two more kids for her to play with and if all goes to plan, she’ll be worn out enough to nap for bit when we get home. Who knew that Christmas Eve at McDonalds could be so pleasant?
And now, I'll leave you with this bit of foolishness.