I did something regrettable a few nights ago. I consented to watch the new AMC series "The Walking Dead" with Nate. About zombies, you know the one? It's gotten rave reviews, they just put the first season on the Netflix watch instantly list, and the second season just started airing this week, so those factors pretty much guaranteed Nate would want to watch it. Being the ever dutiful wife, I reluctantly agreed. Friends, if you are as much a scaredy cat as me, which is to say you hide behind a pillow during the previews for horror movies, do me a favor and do not watch this show. If you do watch, definitely don't eat during it...or at least, don't eat spaghetti. Catch my drift?
In contrast to my journey into zombieland, I took Vivi to a local farm this week to catch up with my friend Triathlete Mom, the mom of one of Vivi's best buds.
Going to a farm has actually become a thing for us, I guess, which is fine by me because I love farms! Having basically grown up on one that was my elementary school/camp/sanctuary, I feel at home on a farm. Vivi and her friend had a blast, cavorting and giggling, poking chickens with sticks, digging in the dirt, chasing each other through a pumpkin patch, playing "Bad Guys."
Charlie did what she generally does outside, spending most of her time climbing on benches and precarious piles of rocks and eating dirt and mulch.
So that's my life, zombies, chicken-poking, and rock-climbing. How 'bout you?