It could be worse

My husband prances around the house naked doing his “woo-woo” dance when he wants to entice me into the bedroom. It mainly puts me in the mood to close all the curtains and hope that the neighbors don’t call the police. That would be kind of hard to explain in the annual Christmas letter. Continue reading

Weighing your options

It’s that time of year again: a time of regret for the poor decisions that we made at the grocery store this week. I don’t own a bathroom scale, nor do I enjoy “hopping up” onto the scale at the doctor’s office. What’s with that anyway? They’re always asking you to hop up on the scale, or hop up on the table. If I have a gaping chest wound, don’t ask me to hop. But I digress. Continue reading