You Call That Parenting?

"Oh my gosh, it's 6:00 o'clock where did the LAST SIX HOURS go?"

My friend and I were having all these great conversations about deep topics. (I am serious. I think we only mentioned Pottery Barn once). We pondered marriage, communication, parenting, finances, the Holy Spirit, and many other things so philosophical I can barely recall them.

At one point, it did strike me as a little odd that she was giving the baby her THIRD bottle at my house that day. I was just thinking she was extra-hungry instead of realizing they could have DRIVEN TO OKLAHOMA in the amount of hours they were at our house.

Anyway, her husband called wondering where she was. "What do you mean? I'm at Nicole's," she said.

We both looked at the clock. OH. MY. GOSH.

I can't account for the hours between noon and six o'clock. There was lots of talking and noticably absent: OUR OWN FLESH AND BLOOD.

As best as my foggy memory can recall, at around 1 p.m. we sent the four kids to the basement for a viewing of Star Wars. Come to find out in the Post Child-Neglect Interviews, they watched Star Wars, Strawberry Shortcake, and Mickey Mouse Christmas (TWICE).

Apparently, Jackson knows how to work the DVD player.

I have never witnessed a grander scattering of small, foil Hershey's kiss wrappers in my life than I saw today on the basement floor.

It's overdone, but:
5 hours
3 movies
100 Hershey kisses
5(!) hours of adult conversation: PRICELESS