I’m sure you recall that I canceled winter by spending a trillion dollars on coordinating winter wear for the girls.  What I failed to mention is that the ONE weekend it snowed, we were blessed to be at a cabin in Brown County, WITH sleds.  But what did we forget?! Wine? Check.  Movies? Check. Snowsuits? Check.  Boots and hats? Check. Slippers? Why not.  Coats?  YES.  We FORGOT THE GIRLS COATS.  Thank God our hosts had borrow-able layers.  Underneath those jackets, the girls are wearing turtlenecks and their fleece pajamas.

But now?  Now it is summer.  It was 82 degrees here today, in MARCH, which all Hoosiers know is a sign of the Apocalypse.  If you don’t believe me, just reference your Farmer’s Almanac.  You still don’t believe me?  The Colts let go of Peyton Manning.  That’s Sign #2.  Once the State Fair goes vegan, we all gonna die.  You heard it here first.  With this fine winter spring, we’ve had the windows down, singing our tunes, as of late.  I TRY not to correct the girls “versions” of their Kidz Bop music, but it’s so.very.hard.

Sara (singing loudly): Shy On!  Shy On! SHYYYYYY-OOONNN!

Mommy: Hmm, um…do you think he might be singing, “Shine On”?

Sara: NO.

Mommy: OK, Shy On it is.

Sara (singing never ends ’round here): And the story of us looks a lot like a treasury now.

Mommy: A treasury, now that sounds lovely.  I guess I thought I heard tragedy.  The story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now.

Sara: Now why would it say that?  That’s sad!  A treasury is a treasure.  A tragedy is a car accident.

Mommy: You make a point.

Sara (because our school commute never ends): Enya Single Ladies!  Enya Single Ladies!  Enya Single Ladies!  Enya Single Ladies!

Mommy: I do have to draw the line here because it is illegal to get Beyonce wrong.  It’s “All You Single Ladies”.  I think we can agree enya single ladies makes no sense whatsoever.

Sara (in a very 17-ish year old voice): MOM!

Mommy: AH!

This weekend we had the windows and doors open, and for a brief time (in between Sara’s croup-y episodes and marathon naps), we did a little art.  Kelly was especially productive, giving Grandma more art than she could carry out of the house on Sunday afternoon.  She proudly handed Daddy a masterpiece…

Kelly: I want you to take this to work!

Daddy: Well thank you Kelly (placing it near his keys).

Kelly: No Daddy, you need to TAKE it to work.  Put it there.  In that thing.

Daddy: What do you mean?  What thing?

Kelly: Your work purse.

Daddy: Kelly!  That’s my briefcase.

Kelly: Right.  Your work purse.  Put it in your work purse.

Daddy: Stop calling it that!

So there you have it.  The end of the world is coming, ordering from Lands End will effectively cancel winter, my kids can’t sing, and Greg carries a man purse to work.  It’s Monday.  Let’s keep it random, shall we?