Decision-making, Mignon style.

I just spent the last hour tearful and angsty, trying to decide what to do with our conundrum of holiday plans. We had decided months ago we would wake up this Thanksgiving Eve, pack up the kids, car and asundry pets and drive nine hours to Portland to celebrate and gorge ourselves at my brother's place. But then there was this:


So the nine-hour walk in the park became the prospect of a 12-hour holiday icey, snowy, screaming children, armaggedon-like family fun ride. There and back. Twenty-four hours of OHMYGODWHATTHEHELLAREWEDOING? So then we looked at plane tickets. Leaving today, leaving tomorrow, leaving in the middle of the night, routed through Phoenix and Sacramento, flying the plane ourselves after a brief instructional video (the Big Sky air option), or perhaps utilizing the special skills of David Copperfield. Anyway way we looked at it, two thousand dollars, or sucking up to David Copperfield (which is perhaps why he's in trouble these days, what with the sucking up, and all).

I cried a little because I do that. Jim paced and threw the stick for Ali. Then I wiped some dog hair off the floor with the sleeve of my dirty sweatshirt and ate some toast. Jim chewed his cuticles and yelled at the children for laughing. I searched IMDB for pictures of Javier Bardem. Jim paced and threw the stick for Ali (he apparently lacks some creativity in the brooding behaviour). Then we decided. I will fly to Portland with Madeleine tomorrow for one and one half day. Now I have to poop.

Can you help a sister with a word?

I need a little help. What did you call the smokers in high school? The kids that worked on their cars and dressed like future night shift employees at the local lumber mill? My brothers called 'em Grits. At Jim's school they were Slippies. Did yours have a name?

One of these kids is doing his own (frightening) thing...

Here we are. A turtle, a kitty, a fairy godmother, and a serial killer.



And some more fall fare:

Y-soccer. Here I am telling them to "get out there and kick some fucking ass you little motherfuckers!" YMCA, instilling respect and tolerance, one little motherfucker at a time.



They're never to young to feel humiliated by their parents.


One of 48 self-portraits on a long-ass car ride to Winthrop.