5 Very Unimportant Things.

Here are five very (un)important things I did this weekend...

1. Ended my sweets fast!!!! Oh yes, I did. Hallelujah and pass the plate of Twinkies! My fast was supposed to end on Sunday. My fast ended on Saturday night. Do I feel bad about this? Why no, I do not at all, but thank you for asking. Because on Saturday night my fast ended with my mom's homemade chocolate chip cookies. And I washed them down with a coke float. And God said, "It is good."

Oh and ya know those people that say if you stay away from sweets for a period of time you really do lose the taste for them? Well, they're right! After about 15 days I started getting a lot more cravings for things like fruit. Or salad. Some days I would even satisfy my sweet teeth by sipping on water or Crystal Light. I also would find there were some days I didn't want to drive my car I just wanted to take my submarine to work. And once, about 12 days in to my fast, I wanted sweets really badly but instead I went outside and spent time in nature; I petted a lamb who was sipping water from a crystal stream out behind my house. It spoke to me and calmed my fears. Later that evening, instead of ice cream, I craved a bowl of nuggets....nuggets of wisdom, that is. And I digested the nuggets and they made me full of creativity, not negativity.

Yeah...those people are big fat liars.

Its was 21 days and I wanted to eat ice cream from the container and throw an apple in someones face. So Praise God!

2. On Saturday night I played dominoes with my family and unfortunately the Attorney General was there. Which is a lot like playing dominoes with Stalin. Only rumor has it, Stalin would occasionally lay the rule book down.

3. I watched Ramona and Beezus. I cried. Do you want to know why I cried? Then watch Ramona and Beezus and then spend five minutes with Remi Hope and you will see my future flash before your eyes.

Sunday morning in the middle of our Sunday School teachers lesson a guy in our class had to leave early, so as he snuck out of the back door ever so quietly he opened the door up right as you heard another Sunday School teacher coming down the hall yelling, "REEEEMMMMMIIIIIIII!" And as the adults in my Sunday school class began to laugh at my pain, all I could think about was Ramona and Beezus and how all of this would be fair if I could just get the kid in a movie where her in-ability to behave would pay me millions.

4. I was leading worship at church this Sunday and as I was on the stage, right smack dab in the middle of a song, I forgot about how uncomfortable my shoes were and I quit worrying about how my hair looked and I just worshipped. And suddenly, everything else took a backseat to the fact that at that moment I was giving glory where it was most deservedly due. And everything in my world felt right, even my shoes, because I was satisfying Him. And something about that makes you feel like all is right with the world.

5. Sunday night I attempted to play dominoes again, this time with some couple friends. And, of course, the Attorney General was there. And I wondered to myself during the game, "Did Eva Braun ever play dominoes with Hitler? And if so, did she make him follow up a double in Mexican train?" Doubtful.

Circus Freak.

Good Lord.

Ya know what I want? I want to send my children to a school that does nothing. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero. I want my kids to go, learn, come home.

I don't want them going to a Planetarium or something cool like that because then I have to go and drive or Remi will malfunction and dry heave.

I don't want them to have a sock-hop during the year because then I will have to buy an adorable sock-hop outfit and a bow that is 12x larger than anyone elses.

I don't want them going to farm or a farmer's market because I already know about vegetables and they don't eat them.

See how good schools are inconvenient for me?

But the school we send Remi to (and will soon send the Rockstar) happens to be a good one. A really good one. Sock-hops, Breakfasts' with Santa, Planetariums and all.

But now they have gone too far. Too far. Now they are planning something that will require me - ME - to be crafty or ingenious or both at the same time and I don't have it in me. I just don't. So I am calling on those of you who know a little something about glue guns and sequins to help a girl out.

In three weeks Remi will be involved in a circus. Oh, yeah, you read that right. And because the office probably thought it would be funny to see my face when they sent home this paper, they sent us home with a sheet where we had to go ahead and sign up what it was our child was going to be. AHEAD OF TIME!! I don't know what she's going to be. I have to go home and check Amazon.com and see what I can buy before I can tell you that. But nooooo, they wouldn't hear of it. Had to sign her up for something right then. So Remi is going to be a lion or a lion tamer.

And before you think, "Melissa, there are a million lion costumes that you can just purchase," you would be right. But I'm thinking there are going to be half a dozen other kids in lion costumes, most will be boys, so I'd prefer she be a lion tamer. Besides, lion tamers normally wear stuff with sequins or bling of some sort and I'm all about that. But that's where my creativity ends. I know I want bling. Done.

See how short-sighted I am?

So please help me. I could really use some ideas. But mainly I could use someone saying the Lord woke them up in the middle of the night and told them exactly how to sketch out a pattern for my little lion tamer and the outfit is in the mail.

But if that doesn't happen, ideas would be appreciated.

Think bling. GO!

Don't Tweet Me On This.

Here is the statistic:

19% of children between the ages of 2-5 can operate smart phone apps.

9% can tie their shoes.

Am I shocked at this? Yes. But only because I can barely operate smart phone apps. Not because I am one of those mothers who am going to raise my children like we live on Little House, because we don't. And I ask you, are you doing them any favors by making them pump their own water? Seriously?

Besides, I have an iPad. I got one for Christmas. Three days after having it my daughter showed me where the volume button was and how to turn the dadgum thing off.

She can't tie her shoes.

My son knows how to touch the app to come on. He knows how to drag the pictures and he knows how to quit a game when he's tired of it.

He just learned how to run without falling down.

What is wrong with this picture? Or is there anything wrong with it? Is our fear that technology is going to take over our world really going to stop technology from taking over our world? No. I do feel like, however, that we can do something about it taking over our home.

Last year the AG and I had the brilliant, positively ingenious, idea to write a list of resolutions down FOR EACH OTHER. (Hello? Divorce Attorney, line 1.) So we tried it and to some degree, a very tiny small degree, it worked. Granted, nothing he asked me to do have I done - but I did ask him to not open his laptop until our children are tucked away and asleep at night. When daddy comes home from work I want him to be home. from. work. I want the kids to know they are top priority. And by cracky, if the man didn't do it! For I would wager 360 out of 365 days the laptop never even came out of his briefcase until the kids were asleep and he had spent some time with me. Oh sure, there were the occasional fires to put out - but more times than not - when he came home, he was all ours.

Now, that I could do the same. Sometimes the iPad takes up more time than reading to them or playing with them. My greatest fear is that my daughter will go to register for wedding gifts someday and she'll register only at Comp USA because she has no idea what a vacuum is.

The Today Show told the story of a family that went on a technology fast. Throughout the day they could have their computers or cell phones, even their Nintendo DSi's. But come the afternoon when they were all home together it was board games and puzzles, reading books and taking walks together. Their fast lasted five days. Five days! Chances are, they mutually decided to end the fast by tweeting it to each other.

It makes me think about our homes today. I spoke with someone the other day who doesn't have email or even Internet connection at their home. And I wonder just how practical that is. But hey, if it works for them...

But trying to teach Remi and Rocco to grow corn and carry their books to school in a leather strap might not be the route we need to go. I don't care if the play their DS as long as it never takes precedence over the Word. Who cares if they quote Shrek and Donkey, as long as they can also quote Scripture. And on that note, I better go. Because I have much - much - MUCH - work to do with them. Perhaps I should start texting them a scripture every day? You're right. Let's first teach them to tie their shoes and run in place.

What is it like at your house?

Black and Blue and Nuts All Over. (Bachelor Recap)

Oh, for pete's sake.

Do I really have to recap this episode?

"Of course you do, Melissa. We hang on every word. You are the reason that ABC has had a network re surge. If not you, who?"

I hear ya. I hear ya. But even your kind words cannot kindle a flame inside of me for this particular episode. Last nights episode of The Bachelor was that episode where every girl says the same thing, every girl cries the same cry and every speech he gives is the same speech he just gave.

*Note to all the naysayers who say things like, "You're just no noticing this, Melissa? I knew this and I've only seen one episode and I watched it while changing my pantyhose on a flight to Denver." They are NOT all the same. On some shows girls get in catfights. On some shows you can tell there is really nothing but complete awkwardness between him and his date (I l-o-v-e those). And sometimes, if we're really lucky, a girl leaves without being asked and everyone is in shock and awe and we at home have to pause our DVR and refill our Dr. Pepper glasses and ask what went wrong. So there.

But none of that was the case on last night's show. So I'm going to make this short and sweet. Hang on.

He went on a date with Her-Dad-Owns-A-Car-Lot. It went well. He said he felt like he had known her forever. They made out. She's in love.

He went on a group date. Dr. Drew was there. Dr. Drew should have stayed longer, because group dates are nothing but nests' of crazy. The Dentist Cried and made a scene. Bachelor fell for it by reassuring her with forehead kisses, but then got kinda mad at her; chose to give rose to Food Critic who desperately needs a haircut.

30th Birthday finally got her alone date because the producers of the show couldn't stand to listen to her whine another minute. She woke up with a black eye because one of her split personalities decided to try and kill her. Unfortunately, they lost. 30th Birthday and The Bachelor repelled off a roof which has now bonded them for life. He said he could imagine a life with her and her daughter. They made out. She's in love.

The cocktail party went fine until he surprised Emily with a picnic basket in front of all the other women. That's because Emily is precious and doesn't beat herself up in her sleep. All the other girls went loco and decided that openly crying seemed to be the best way to handle the situation.

He ended up sending home three women who were commonly referred to as She-Looks-Like-Amy-Adams, Ugly-Pink-Shoes and Bartender. Strangely, these were three women who didn't openly cry over Emily's picnic basket. Leading me to believe he appreciates a woman who cries in public and openly demonstrates aggressive behavior. (Thank God I didn't meet him in my 20's, we'd be married today.)

The night ended with a champagne toast and his vow that those women were there because he truly wanted to get to know them better. Until next week. When he sends home three more, who mark my words will be My-Bootie-Isn't-Petite-Enough, Dorothy From Oz and Sportscaster. Unless he repels down a building with them, then its anybodies guess.

Predictions anyone?

Weekends Are Like "Must See TV" But Without the TV.

Normally on Mondays I write some ridiculous drivel about how terrible my weekend was and how the kids got on my nerves.

But not today.

I mean, those two things did happen - make no mistake - I'm just not going to blog about them. I think its safe to say you know me well enough by now to know that when the weekend rolls around it looks absolutely no different than say a Tuesday morning or a Thursday night. Except that on Thursday nights 30 Rock comes on. So actually, the weekend feels just like a Wednesday afternoon with no good T.V.

We passed a stomach bug around our house like a pair of dice. Finally one of us rolled double two's and we were able to pass it off to some other poor sucker. But as soon as we were bug-free, Rocco picked up the "crud." If you live in Texas then you know what the "crud" is: its a scratchy throat, a nagging cough, a runny nose and triple sneezes. Its kind of like a "cold" but with a southern twist. If you talk to anyone I go to church with or that is in my family and you say, "Rocco has the crud," they know exactly what you're talking about.

So we spent most of our weekend inside. Except for the AG who had the unenviable task of walking the woods all around our house looking for Jessie, our dog of almost 13 years. Sweet Jessie. She was nowhere to be found. And before you think that maybe she was picked up by the pound, she wasn't. Jessie is quite old (17 to be exact) and never leaves home. Her ears aren't what they used to be, neither are her eyes, and our heart tells us that she probably wandered into the woods and "laid down for a nap and ended up in heaven." (Remi's words. Perfect.)

I know you all must think that either Rocco never says anything or that he never says anything funny, since I am always telling you Remi stories. But the truth is, that little boy is so sweet and he hasn't really gotten to the age of showing his personality. When he does I'll be sure and let you know. Until then, I'll let you get your Monday off to a good start by telling you....

Last night Remi was playing a game where she gets us to look the other way while she slaps a sticker on our forehead. It's a fun game that I love to play over and over and over and over. (not.) The trick is getting us to turn our heads. For instance, she can say to her daddy, "Look daddy, Rocco is getting some applesauce" and chances are he won't turn around because, really, who cares about that? But if she were to say, "Look daddy! Catherine Zeta Jones just walked in," you can bet the man would look. So when it was her turn to get me to look away, what do you think her little 4 year old brain came up with? Can't think? Let me tell you, she said, "Look momma! There's some cake!"

Yep, she did.

And dadgum it if I didn't fall for it.

Made ya look!

I Know You're Just Devastated.

I regret to inform you that this blog has been shut down until Monday.

This is due to the stomach bug that has hit both of my children

and the sad fact that my dog has been missing for three days.

(I'm far more upset by the dog.)

If you have any questions or concerns feel free

to take them up with her...

but I can tell you right now, she won't care.

Love, Melissa

I DO NOT Heart Sacrifice.

I enjoyed all of your comments from Monday's post on my fasting sweets. Well, I enjoyed some of them. I quite honestly despised Laurel who said she hadn't ever fasted, didn't have any plans to fast and would be happy to double her sweets-eating for over the next three weeks. Be gone, Laurel!

Just kidding.

She wasn't the only one who broke my heart. My sweet friend Dana so elegantly wrote that she was eating chocolate while typing her comment. Is rudeness like that even allowed on the Internet? I think that is called "cyber-bullying" Dana!

And there were those of you who praised my spiritual strength. (I could barely type that phrase without laughing. Me? Spiritual strength? Check with me when this is over.)
Katy (Katy, how funny that you put Hebrews 10:24-25 on your last post because I am allll about that. Spur me on, won't you?)...
Amanda (Oh. And dear Amanda, I may not be the Pioneer Woman - not even sorta close - but promise me that if I ever come to Columbus you and your bff will at least take me to Chili's. I mean, c'mon.)...
Andrea (How is Operation Wedding weigh-loss going? Are you following my plan? Don't!!)
and Missy (Missy, could your blog family picture be any cuter? Seriously. Work on that for me, will ya?) actually encouraged me! (Make a note, Laurel.)

And then there was Crazy Sister (who I knew instantly that I liked when she posted about the terrible flooding in Australia and whether or not she should cut her hair all in the same post) made me laugh when she told me she hoped it "proved worthwhile for me by the end." You and me both, sister. You and me both. And then there was Andi (Mexican casserole is not off limits to me, so thank you for that recipe on your blog) who reminded me that I would grow from this and it wouldn't be in dress sizes. We shall see Andi, I have never known my dress sizes to obey anything I've ever told them. Ever.

And you're right, Marlene. The fact that you are actually doing the Daniel Fast whole-hog meant I did NOT want to hear from you. Next time, I would appreciate you following the rules. It makes me feel better about myself.

But now a word to MBush, Dysfunctional Mom , my friend Kim Little and sweet Lindsey who thought, in their precious good-natured hearts, that they were actually going to suggest a healthy alternative for me. Yes, I know golden raisins are yummy and of course I suppose I could get my grocer to grind up some peanuts and make my own peanut butter. But have y'all just recently started reading my blog? I mean, did y'all just start reading it yesterday? Because if you knew me - at all - you would know that I can't possibly eat any of these things for fear that they would, in fact, satisfy me therefore causing me to quit my bellyaching and incessant whining and focus my attention on something other than me. And if you knew me - really knew me - you would know.........that ain't gonna happen.

Seriously.

Then what fun would it be every night at my house around 8:15 when I start whining and saying, "I just want one Chips Ahoy. One Oreo. Please? AG, just give me one bite of ice cream and I promise I won't say another word the rest of the night. Please? Just one bite. Just one M&M. Just one. Fine, I'll just open up my mouth and you shoot in some Hershey's syrup. That's more like a drink, anyway. Please? Why not? You know what? Don't answer that. I loooooathe you."

And you want me to eat raisins?

Pastor Chip Ingram says that sacrifice is "forgoing something valued for the sake of something having a more pressing claim."

That is the kind of sacrifice I am identifying with. I make jokes all the time and sometimes I know its hard to tell when I'm serious (my lovelies, I hope you know if your name is listed here, I love you. I don't despise you. Even you, Laurel and Dana.) But I could easily sacrifice reality television - even though I love it and know its terrible for the soul. I could even sacrifice People magazine and the occasional pedicure.

But sacrificing sweets is sacrificing something that has become bigger to me than it needs to be. Its setting aside something that has had a front row seat for far too long. In order to let that that has been sitting on the back row move to its rightful spot.

I, like the friend I mentioned, hope it proves worthwhile in the end. But even if no fireworks go off. Even if Billy Graham never calls me to ask me how I did it. And even if on day 31 if I wake up and still don't look like Halle Berry, I can still rest in the knowledge that for once I said "no" to chocolate and "yes" to obedience. "No" to what I want and "yes" to what He wants. "No" to my pleasure and "yes" to His gain.

Though looking like Halle Berry never hurt anyone, Lord. Just sayin'.

Its Amazing What A Little Underworld Can Teach You. (Bachelor Recap)

Thank you to my girlfriends, whom I watch The Bachelor with every week as they take a two hour show and make it 14 1/2 hours long. But it takes us a while to comment on every word, broach, dress, pair of shoes, hair clip, extension and comment. Can you imagine? We're exhausted by the end of the evening. And this week was no different.

Mainly its hard keeping up with the names. Oh, the names. Names of women we want to kill. Names of women we want to leave. Names of women who have between 2 to 8 seconds total of air time. Names of women who aren't long for this world because they say things like: "I'm starting to really feel something special with you and it's hard sharing you with 14 other women." (Note to bachelorettes: Watch the show before you come on it. Sharing him with 14 other women is....well...what the entire series is about.)

In order to solve our name dilemna we have come up with a fool-proof plan. Its called the "Let's-call-them-by-what-they-do-or-how-they-act-or-what-they-say-or-horrific-outfits-they-wear." And its working out good. I've you've been watching the show then you know exactly who the following are:

Bartender.

Ugly Pink Shoes.

Old-Woman Real Estate.

30th Birthday.

Glee.

Fangs.

Sportsgirl.

Mortuary.

Petite Behind.

Daddy-Owns-A-Car-Lot.

Dentist.

Kelli-Pickler-lookin'-gotta-be-18-years-old.

And Emily. (Who we know by her actual name because, well, look at her! We all readily confessed that even as secure as we are in our heterosexuality even we would give her a rose just to keep her around and listen to her talk!)

Nothing super suprising happened during the first part of tonights episode. It was chocked full of girls in spandex, cheezy action sequences, playing chicken in the pool and 30th Birthday. Awww, 30th Birthday: the most unoriginal nutjob since last seasons unorginal nutjob. If I decided to go on the Bachelorette and be the villian I would play it soooooo differently. I wouldn't look at the camera and say things like, "I wish the other women would die. I just want to run away with him. They can go on home now. Poor little girls. I'm a woman." I would look right into that camera and say, "I know exactly who I am in Christ, so tomorrow night at the cocktail party - I'm wearing overalls!" And then I would do it.

But it was the second half that got a little odd mainly becuase Fangs did something pretty shockingly, commendable. She left. Not becuase he let her go. Not even because she necassarily wanted to go. But because (as she put it), "Although I'm here because I really want to fall in love, I don't want to take the place of a wonderful women who really needs to."

And y'all....she took her fangs out to say it.

To which Brad said, "You don't have to take your fangs out." And I declared to my fellow-watchers that whenever you're watching a show and the statement, "you don't have to take your fangs out" is uttered, you know you have just hit an all-time low. And perhaps we have; but tonight Fangs left with a little bit of dignity and alot of us thinking that maybe, just maybe, they teach manners in the underworld. You never know.

She not only left Brad to be devoured by hot-blooded women, she took her fangs out to do it.

And that, my lovelies, is your re-cap for the week.

Dear Lord, I Wish I Was A Lutheran. They Would Never Allow This.

Every year our pastor calls a fast for our church.

You don't have to do it. You won't be kicked out if you decide that you are going to eat tacos come hell or high water. It's not that strict. But he does call a corporate fast of everyone in the church who is willing. Its called a Daniel Fast. You can read more about what it is here. I myself am not wild about it as I do not personally know this Daniel character and find it a bit pushy for him to tell me what I can and cannot eat (but then again I've felt this way about every Weight Watchers leader I ever had and don't even get me started on that operator I talked to at Nutrisystem.)

But anyway, as I was saying, he calls a fast. Did I mention our pastor is a man?

I find that fasting is easier for men.

It's especially easier for men of God.

But I am a woman.

A woman of issues.

So when our pastor called this corporate fast I asked myself, "Self, do you want to go on the Daniel Fast?" And surprisingly my self told me "no." Which I found odd because usually I am just dying to go on 21 day fasts. However, instead of going on the Daniel Fast, the AG and I decided to fast something that was, indeed, a sacrifice for us. To be honest, I'm not sure what he's fasting - nor do I care. The man is so disciplined it makes me want to hurl, so I'm sure he's doing something wonderful like fasting exercise or fasting organizing his socks by colors or fasting color coding his Bible. Whatever. Who cares. All I'm concerned about during this fast is me. Me. Me. Me.

Because I'm fasting sweets.

"Awww please, Melissa. 21 days without sweets. Oh, boo-hoo. Poor, poor you. How ever will you make it?"

I hear you. I know you're saying those things. I don't care. You can smirk and mimic all day long but I will have you know that sweets are a food group to me. They are right under the food groups: Mashed Potato's, Chocolate Milk and Chicken Tenders. Me giving up sweets is like me giving up bathing: I do it every day, come rain or shine, whether I need it or not and sometimes I do it twice.

Sweets are not something I partake in on Christmas or New Years or the 4th of July because we are meeting up with friends at the lake, sweets are something that I wash my food down with. When some people say they have a "sweet tooth" I reply "well, I have sweet teeth."

First of all, let me say that I am not a good faster. I never have been. But on a serious note there are some things that I would like to see God reveal Himself in this coming year and so I took this fast seriously. I could have given up Chik-fil-A; it would have been hard but I would have been just fine. I could have given up green beans and broccoli, don't think I didn't try. But instead I prayed about what to give up and for a non-faster, giving up sweets was a good (and difficult) place for me to start.

So there are no cookies that I snack on while putting them into my kids lunchboxes. No cake when I go to friends birthday parties or showers (of which I have been to just last week........and nearly diiiiiiiieeeed). There are no Cokes or Dr. Pepper when I have a hankerin'. No ice cream during The Bachelor. There is no chocolate milk in the mornings with the kiddos. No Lucky Charms or Pop-Tarts when I'm in a hurry.

There is also no joy on my face.
No peace in my heart.
No respite for my weary soul.

So here's hoping to goodness God grants me those things before long or I might kill a member of my family and blame it on my pastor.

Oh, I'm kidding of course. There was a little joy on my face yesterday when The AG walked in from Wal-Mart and laid a bag of Chips Ahoy down in front of me. But he said it looked more like the Joker after all that acid had burnt his face than it did a really pleasant smile. So he quickly removed the bag of cookies and lived to see another day. So see? Its going well.

So for those of you who are doing the Daniel Fast or have done the Daniel Fast, I don't want to hear from you. I don't want to hear about your lament and your sorrow, I've got enough problems of my own. I want to hear from those of you who have always looked at sweets as I have - a food group all their own. Any ideas on what I might find enjoyable during this fast if it can't be Reese's? Apparently there's something out there called fruit, but I thought it only grew in the summer.

Heading in to week 2. Wish me luck. Wish my family even more.

It's All Fun and Games Until Someone Turns Us In.

Sometimes I think I shouldn't tell you all Remi stories, because a.) you'll be just like all my family who just laughs and laughs and says things like, "Oh that Remi, she is an original" or b.) you will have us turned in to the authorities.

Either way I'm telling this one because maybe - just maybe - you will start to recognize my pain and perhaps instill me with some wisdom that, up to this point, God is withholding from me out of the pure-de joy He finds in my suffering. (You may find it sacrilegious to write things like that, I disagree. Even while typing those words I could hear Him laughing. Its true.)


So, before we go any further, let's go ahead and do those things that good Christians do before they talk bad about someone. Or at least good Christians in the South do this, good Northern Christians seem much more sure about themselves in these situations. So here we go:


*All of the following statements are true. Please don't take them out of context as they were not written that way.


1. The Attorney General and I love "brown people." We have many friends who are brown.

2. The AG and I believe that most brown people are funnier than us and can, without question, keep a better beat.

3. The AG and I are friends with several brown families that we serve alongside at our church, love with all our heart, and would trade their kids for our kids in a heartbeat.

4. We have some of the best neighbors in the world. They are brown.

5. The AG and I were not raised to believe in separation, racism, favorites or I'm-better-than-you philosophies in any way.

6. The AG and I hope that we are teaching our kids the same. Though we can't be sure.


Last night as the AG was working a lady he works with walked in to his office and said, "You won't believe the text I just got." Without hesitation the AG threw his hand on his forehead and said, "Nooooooooooooooooo.....its Remi, isn't it?"

We've learned to always know the answer is "yes."

Because you see, the lady the AG works with is the mother of Remi's dance teacher. The AG knew Remi was at dance class and, well, the mans not an idiot.

"My daughter just asked Remi who her best friend at school was. And Remi replied, 'I love allllllll the brown kids because I love me some chocolate.'"

Y'all.

Seriously.

Our teaching moment came later that evening when Remi got home from dance class. Lick the dining room table, Remi. Does it taste like chocolate?
Lick your jacket, Remi. Does it taste like chocolate?
Lick daddy's arm, Remi. Does it taste like vanilla?
Lick your brother's hand, Remi. Does it taste like vanilla?

Our point (and believe it or not, we did have one) was to show Remi that just because you are brown doesn't make you chocolate. But she firmly believes that she loves chocolate and she loves brown people and only God could have been so creative as to give them such a wonderful color. I kind of agree.

But her reasoning is so completely politically incorrect in the year 2011 that I'm afraid we are going to be turned in to the authorities, thrown in some kind of Parental Prison for Imbeciles and made to live out our days licking grey steel bars and repeating, "No sir, these do not taste like hamburger."

She means well. We think.