Let’s get this out of the way before I start, OK? I will no longer be pretending that I feel some massive level of guilt for not blogging on a regular basis. There are approximately three of you who read this blog, and at least two of you also have access to my antics on Facebook. It’s pretty much the same antics. There. Now I won’t need to start my 2011 yearly post with an apology.

This morning, M pressed her ear to the living room carpet and called me over in an excited whisper. “There’s a stampede coming,” she said. “Oh my,” I answered. “A stampede of what?” She gave me a look that suggested I am not very smart, and said “stampedes are bulls, mom.” Right. Silly me. “How long do you think we have until it gets here?” I asked her. She thought maybe 20 minutes. 30 max. “What should we do, then?” I asked in a faux-alarmed tone. “Well, you should probably gather all of your jewelry,” she answered, “and meet me in the basement.”
I may be squashed flat by the bulls falling into my basement, but dammit, I will be covered in shiny baubles when I go.

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