Some People Just Like to Watch the Toys Burn.

In the on going case of Matthew Slater vs. His Mother's Oven, I submit more evidence for the jury's consideration.

(Please note that no names, conversations, or melted utensils/toys have been changed to protect the crazy, as the people involved couldn't make this nonsense up if they tried)

Exhibit A: The mother's desperate plea for the vacation that seems so close, yet so far away.

The jury will note the father's attempt at lightening the mood. Let the record show that the mother is not having it. 

Exhibit B: The mother CAN'T EVEN

The father cries out to the Father.

Close up of Exhibit B

Banana Block Bread

Exhibit C: The mother's face caught in its natural "WHAT ARE YOU DOING" state. 

The jury is asked not to be swayed by the boy's seemingly innocent "Who, me?" expression. 

This conclude's today's portion of the trial. There will be a brief recess in which the mother will work on Exhibit D: A bucket of her own tears. 

But wait! Surprise bonus evidence has just become available: Heat resistant spatulas 

Please note: Evidence given to mother from another mom of boys. Solidarity, man. 

The Hidden Gift of a Hard Year

“I’m going to die someday.”

Dan and I were out to dinner a month back, and he asked me what had been on my heart lately (swoon! Fellas, ask your ladies this often. Then get comfortable for the next two to ten hours). This party starter was my response.

“I’m going to die. You’re going to die. What are we doing with our lives? I’m terrified we’re going to wake up in twenty years and still be wishing instead of doing. We are so busy busy busy all the time, but what are we actually doing?”

(I can be a real indie movie when the mood strikes.)