First of all, let me assure you guys that I'm not dead. I'm not even sick. And even though I'd like to, I'm not hiding in shame and embarrassment over this:
Since I didn't do a Thanksgiving post, let me say that we had a lovely day, my big girl had come home from college, and it was a perfectly relaxing holiday. Her boyfriend was also home from college and probably to his mother's angst, spent the holiday with us. We ended the day as we do every year, by bombing the San Antonio River with pumpkins.
Jeff, being a man, was treated with the utmost respect for his volunteer service. He was appointed bouncer - sat beside a side door to keep the riff raff out and the children, mice, and angels in. Since riff raff only attempted to come in one time...and I was backstage with the children, mice, and angels - he mostly sat around playing games on his phone and relaxing. Everyone, however, was thrilled with his volunteerism and women repeatedly brought him coffee and patted him on the back in gratitude.
I moved boxes, tables, chairs, and costumes. I took gaggles of angels and mice to the bathroom. I helped with the "quick changes" during intermission. I applied make-up, sprayed massive amounts of hairspray, and pulled up tights on sweaty little bodies. Also? For the record? It is hard to put eye shadow on a kid who is crying. Nobody brought me coffee or patted me on the back. Go figure. Next year I plan to try to get in the clique of Starbucks Mommies. They volunteered tirelessly by signing in on the volunteer sign-in sheet, heading to Starbucks, and coming back in time to sign out. I watched them do it every single day and it never ceased to impress me.