she's tearing holes in the curtains as we speak

A few weeks ago John and Captain America and The Hulk went ice fishing with some friends. Catpatin America caught a sunburn and this fish and ate it by himself until there were just too many of those tiny, hairlike bones to deal with. I don't blame him. Trout bones put me off endoskeletal fish for twenty years.

I was going to make a Devil Dog/Suzy Q for Captain America's tenth birthday, but I didn't line the pan, even though the recipe said to, and I ruined the cake. Shame on me. I am a wicked girl.

So we had trifle instead. It was way better than a cake, they assured me. And because there was no refined sugar (other than the candy bars on top), we were able to guiltlessly eat four servings apiece! Health food is the best! Shockingly, The Hulk (He Who Hates Disparate Textures) didn't like it--"it's great except for the pudding part," he says. But so you don't think he's the granola who's going to bury us all after we die of The Sugar, he's the one who snuck a package of donettes (the powdered sugar kind, gag) that Captain America had bought, and ate half of them by himself. Yes, by all means, let's eat the unpronounceable cancer dough, but not the homemade vanilla pudding, you ridiculous person.

Just now I heard Pinga hollering and sobbing in her room, and saying, "Mommy! Down! Mommy! Down!" So I went in there and she had climbed the shelves of her armoire and couldn't get down. I left her there so she could learn a lesson about natural consequences.