Three times this morning I put forth an earnest effort to put on my T-shirt before I discovered that I was trying to shove my arm and head through the same hole simultaneously. My nose ring looked me squarely in the face and said, “One more time, sister, and I QUIT.” I AM TIRED. And with good reason.

At 2:45 this morning, Zack and I both woke up to hear a very small but very persistent dinging noise. It sounded very much like the noise a light pull makes when it knocks against a ceiling fan’s globe. It was happening long enough and consistently enough to get us both out of bed, (angrily, of course) to search for it. I became convinced that our fan was irritating the shoe rack on the closet door, (I’m real logical at zero-two-hundred-hours) and went back to bed. The noise started again not but a minute later and Zack scowled, “THEY ARE SHOOTING AIR-SOFT PISTOLS IN THE BACK YARD.” They, of course, being Katy and the rest of her night-crawling friends.

Here’s what I learned: Air-soft pistols are louder that you might think.
Here’s what I’m going to learn: whether or not that face Bart is always making when Homer strangles him is realistic.