headache. must. die.

Stephen returned from New Orleans today, a day which is also Dad’s birthday. Par-tay. Of course, we rewatched The Office and heard once more what is now my mantra: Lord, beer me strength.

My little brother, the man child, came home with a tan and facial hair and a voice that I swear dropped a few octaves.

He also came back with stories and a heart that has been set afire for serving people. I love this kid.

I told him we’d have to watch Idol Gives Back together, both for the footage of NOLA and of Africa, where we’d like to go together in a year or two. And if we watch it, there’s a very good chance that I’ll cry. Again.

I should be stretched thin more often. It makes me so much more emotionally accessible.

update

Peanut went to see Dr. G for a recheck and received a clean bill of health: no sneezing or snottiness (well, a snotty nose is one thing; a snotty attitude is another…)

oh no she di’nt

Heard a radio ad for today’s Oprah…

“How many of you are wondering what only this woman had the nerve to ask? ‘Is it possible to be allergic to your husband’s *bleep*?’ “

I’m assuming they meant sperm. Or, well, I think you can fill in the blank…

“Dr. Oz answers your most burning questions.”

Wrong. So wrong.