It’s quite the snowstorm, isn’t it? On Thursday afternoon, Atlanta got pounded with snowgate ’10. A full 1/4 inch dusting of the white magic. So, instead of my BIG PLANS to take Slynnro to Atlantic Station so she could buy her H&M tank tops (even though we hear that H&M is kind of a douche because when they don’t sell their merchandise they cut it up into a million little pieces and shove it into the dumpsters instead of doing something noble like make tank top doggie bags for homeless shelters.) we had three little additions to our entourage and some really icy streets to avoid.

Sigh. Best laid plans, I guess. my kids nabbed themselves an impromptu three-day-weekend that involved hanging out with her and her and her.

We watched the BCS championship game and the kids learned to hook ’em. We played phase 10 and Emily kicked all of our asses. Emily walked the runway at J.Crew and displayed a “smile with her eyes” that even Tyra would be proud of. Josh danced to Thriller with a fedora on at the Gap (where I bought myself an $8 sweater!) Isabella ate a lot of butter. We all sat at the table (at The Flying Biscuit! mmmm) and played Words with Friends against each other.

We pondered over whether or not there’s a febreze for dogs because Indiana’s face smelled an awful lot like his ass. And we prayed for Metalia’s safety in the Russian cab ride of doom (now with broken taxis and open windows!). And Emily may have asked my stepmom why she isn’t using her new coffee maker (oh.yes.she.did.) which, ps, I have decided to just pretend didn’t happen and maybe just oops somehow manage to take off with it when we leave. heh. And Isabella’s shenanigans forced me to label her both Hannibal Lecter AND a pigdog

which, of course, meant that I HAD to introduce the kids to Monty Python. I HAD TO. For an hour and a half. Well, I know their British relatives would be proud. And we were introduced to the GTL – gym, tan, laundry. Oh, Jersey Shore. And Isabella gave the  “naked ladies” at Macy’s super atomic wedgies and she walked into giant poles. I may have convinced everyone to invest in a good pair of JEGGINGS. And we may have witnessed one us (I am not at liberty to admit which one of us it was…but let’s just say it rhymes with dristabella) spit an entire mouthful of water clear across the kitchen when Emily revealed that I am only reading The Vampire Diaries so I have something to do while I’m on the toilet.

In a nutshell…I do believe that my friends no longer think my kids are fake. And they no longer think that I exaggerate them. Because as I always say, I wish I could make this shit up.