The Princess: I got Boy Detective a PB&J smoothie, and I got a... something? Like blueberry coconut soy something?

C-Man: And how was that?

The Princess: Ugh. I feel much healthier, but I wouldn't get it again.

C-Man: That's too bad, it sounds like it would have been good, you know, coconut, blueberries. Except you don't like blueberries.

The Princess: You're right, I don't like blueberries. I think that was my problem with it.

C-Man: So why did you order that?

The Princess: I just cannot wait to see the new G.I. Joe movie.

C-Man: That's because it's going to be made of awesome. Who wouldn't want to see this movie?

The Princess: Maybe if your parents were killed by ninjas. But then you would have become a ninja yourself, because that's the only way to avenge them.

C-Man: But if your parents were killed by ninjas, you would want to see ninjas getting chopped up!

The Princess: You are SO RIGHT!

On Saturday, C-Man left the house at 9:30 a.m. to drive an hour to San Antonio so he could play in an all-day miniature wargame tournament. When he was done there, he drove back to North Austin to play in another miniature wargame tournament all evening.

You covet our lives, don't you?

For my part, I did what any reasonable person would do and begged my mother-in-law to come over.

"Don't you and your daughter want to come over Saturday afternoon and bring that Christmas tree that you've been promising to give us and decorate it and make cookies with Boy Detective?" I said, "Your son's going to be out of town ALL DAY."

"Ooh," she said, "My daughter said I could just bring the tree over when I come to work but your idea sounds way better."

"Yes, doesn't my idea sound fun? Also, did I mention your son is going to be out of town ALL DAY?!"

They showed up right after lunch, and they even brought daughter's boyfriend, The Farmer, whom Boy Detective adores. Score!

I mixed up a batch of sugar cookie dough and refrigerated it for half an hour, following the instructions from my paternal grandmother via my mother's handwriting on the index card. My mother-in-law mixed up a batch of molasses gingerbread cookies and did not refrigerate that dough, following the instructions on the index card in HER grandmother's handwriting.

We rolled out half the sugar cookie dough and then painfully negotiated the following items:

• how much colored sugar Boy Detective was allowed to eat out of a spoon
• how hard he could slam his hand down on the cookie cutters to push them into the dough
• how much he could complain about not getting as much colored sugar as he wanted

My mother in law rolled out the molasses gingerbread dough and cut out some cookies. I tried to transfer them from the table to the baking pan. Squish.

"This doesn't get refrigerated," she said.

"It might do better if it was," I said.

"You don't put all the flour in at the beginning, it makes the dough tough," she said, "You work it in as you're rolling it out, and you put quite a bit down on the table too so it won't stick. But I don't like to put too much down because then the backs are all floury."

"Hmm," I said.

I finally worked out how to get them onto the spatula in almost their original shape, but the transfer from the spatula to the pan was asking too much. The bells were warping into unrecognizable lumps, the crinkly-edged circles were uncrinkling and un-circling. And then I had a clever idea. Don't try to slide them off the spatula, just flip them onto the cookie sheet! I am a genius!

Except that we live in Texas. In compliance with our state constitution, we have a Texas-shaped cookie cutter and use it at every cookie-making opportunity.

When I lived in Colorado, I did not have these problems.

C-Man's company holiday party was Thursday night. I have known about this party for at least a month. Also, I work in my house, which is where I keep my clothes. And yet, this is how I got dressed for the party:

Okay, I sent that report... ooh should I check email one more time? No! Stop checking email. I don't have time to answer it anyway. Do I still hear video game sounds from downstairs? Yes! That's good, that means C-Man isn't on his way back up here yet to find out why I'm not ready.

Oh god, the closet is cold. Is there anything clean that I haven't yet put away that could help? No. Shit. Um, um, the red pants, I always wear the red pants, oh I do not want to wear the red pants they have a big crease in them and oh no they're also really dusty WAIT! THE BLACK PANTS! That's what I told C-Man earlier I was going to wear but then I forgot. OH NO DO THEY FIT AGAIN? If they don't fit I am totally screwed. What the fuck am I going to wear if these don't fit?! Wow they have a lot of dog hair on them. But THEY FIT! I can never gain or lose weight again. Thank god they fit because my husband would freak out if I had to take a shower and shave so I could wear a skirt OH FUCK my pedicure is from July. I don't think it can even be CALLED a pedicure anymore. That means no open-toed sandals, is it warm enough for those anyway? It's not far from the parking garage to the front door but then I would probably have to cut my toenails real quick why don't I have any other black SHOES oh I do, those should be fine THEY ARE FULL OF SAND?!

I will use this clean white sock to scrub them out my GOD what the hell did I do in these shoes the last time I wore them? When was that anyway? And why are the soles unsticking from the base? Please tell me I can unstick them and stick them back where they're supposed to go, oh hang on my feet go there anyway haha. Gack, these feel awful! They're still full of dirt! Dammit, C-Man is going to be here soon and he's not going to be happy that I'm not ready to leave.

Black pants, black pants, black pants with a... oh no, I never DID find that black camisole that I pretty much have to wear under anything I'm going to wear with these pants I am so SCREWED! That basket is dirty laundry, that basket is dirty laundry, that basket is clean laundry is there anything down in there long underwear C-Man's shirts socks HEY CAMISOLE! Okay okay this is going to be okay. No long sleeve shirts clean. Um. Okay okay I can make this work with a... sweater over a black sleeve shirt! Oh, that black sweater I bought right before BlogHer, it's in the drawer right there and hey look it's hopelessly wrinkled! WHY DIDN'T I THINK ABOUT THIS YESTERDAY?!

I could throw that in the dryer for five minutes and it would be fine except no we're supposed to leave five minutes ago, um, what about this one that I bought in Portland that's just as good oh um I really don't want to wear this NO IT WILL BE FINE BECAUSE IT HAS TO BE! GO BACK TO THE CLOSET! No wait, what's in this drawer? Pretty brown shirt! NO pretty brown shirt is wrinkled too! The dryer won't even fix it how am I going to fix it? I hope the internet will tell me and how am I supposed to store these damn things anyway when I don't wear them very often I feel victimized by my clothing and I really want to yell at someone right now I hope no one comes upstairs. CLOSET! NOW!

It's cold in here. Um, okay, ummmm... green shirt! Christmas party, green! Pull it on, remember it's going to be cold, do you need to wear a bra under the camisole? I don't want to wear the green shirt, there must be something else here REALLY why don't I own any CLOTHES? Take the green shirt off the hanger, pull it on, go to the mirror. I was so right, this haircut is too short. I'll tell everyone it's fine but I really don't like it. Leave it ALONE it only gets worse when you mess with it. Oh, right, do I need a bra? No! Score!

And this sweater looks great! Except for the sleeves. And the sleeves of the green shirt are making the shoulders kind of lumpy. I'll tuck them in this way instead OH LORD NO don't do that, and what the hell am I going to do with this part ACK the camisole is too long, can I tuck it in NO then the button on the pants will show through the shirt can I fold the camisole a little AHA YES. The shoulders don't work. Oh I hate the sweater sleeves I forgot they had buttons, what if I unbutton them? Yeah, no, I need to stop trying to save this now no one's going to be looking at me anyway seriously get over yourself you're 37 years old and have a kid and a bad haircut and you're going to stay for like an hour WHY DIDN'T I GET OUT THE OTHER SWEATER AN HOUR AGO THEN I MIGHT HAVE LOOKED DECENT this is ridiculous and the camisole is showing because the green shirt is so low cut I DO NOT CARE it's the same color as my pants and sweater it's fine it doesn't look like a bra whatever just go downstairs DO NOT FORGET TO LINT ROLL THE PANTS!

Fuck, purse. Oh but that's easy. HEY, where's my BLACK PURSE? Ohhhhhhh, I threw it away because the handle started cracking after 15 years. The little one though! Right in my dresser drawer!

NOT IN MY DRESSER DRAWER!

Last time I would have used it was when when when BLOGHER! Suitcase? Ooh I'm so smart look in the little red suitcase not there what the hell is wrong with me that I have not completely unpacked from a trip I went on in JULY?! Please tell me it's in the big red suitcase no it's not no no no THERE! Hahahaha, I win, little black purse, I hate these shoes they are full of dirt I am throwing them away right when I get home but I am not going to this party to have a good time I can just absorb punishment it's fine. Is there anything I can do about my hair? No. Do I own any powder? No. Dammit, that was dumb, why don't I own any? Origins counters are all in another state? NO. But I am so tired of power compacts breaking and spilling stuff everywhere. LEAVING NOW.

And then I put my black purse down on the kitchen table next to my four year old son, who was eating yogurt.

(C-Man almost immediately picked it up, fearing catastrophe, because, as always, he is my hero.)

I wore his black Honda mechanic's jacket because I don't have a coat that's as long as the black sweater I was wearing.

And I did forget to lint roll my pants.

Dear people who work at jobs,

I'm not sure how to break this to you, if you haven't already figured it out, but... your work email account? Totally not private.

You know that gal who works in your IT department, the one who always wears black and drinks out of a Star Wars mug and has an eyebrow piercing? Actually she would probably be a friend of mine and she's good people, you don't have to worry about her. But those other two people who work with her? They could totally log in and read your email any time they want - either at your manager's request, or just for fun.

At my previous job, my colleague's daughter got very sick suddenly. He went on leave while she spent a few months in the PICU. He was obviously not checking his email during that time. So various team members logged into his mailbox every day and forwarded work emails to the appropriate places for handling. Are you comfortable with everyone you work with having access to everything in your inbox? Friends writing to you about marital issues? Your own emails about your financial situation or your health? Lots and lots of emails that show you've been working on your blog or updating Facebook continuously during the work day?

Here in Austin, I knew someone who showed up to work one day and there was a padlock on the door of the building. Seems the business had gone bankrupt, but the owners didn't let any of the staff know. All computer accounts were now inaccessible. If your personal contacts are in the habit of emailing your work account, how easy would it be to get all of them to update their address books? How much mail would you lose in the meantime?

Some people use their work accounts for personal email because their job blocks the major providers for personal email - Yahoo, Gmail, Hotmail, and so on. If you're in this situation, I'm so sorry. But is it worth sabotaging yourself at work to send email?

Just think about it, okay? Segregating your personal and work email doesn't completely stop your employer from checking up on your internet use, but it's just good sense.

Best,
The Princess

C-Man: What about a hexagon?

Boy Detective: A hexagon?! What is a hexagon?!

C-Man: It has six sides. Like a square has four sides, a hexagon has six sides.

Boy Detective: But where are all the sides?

C-Man: I'll draw one for you. See? That's a hexagon.

Boy Detective: HAI-YAH! I just chopped a zombie. It was trying to eat your head.

What the People (Apparently) Want - Stick Figures Edition at Emotional Umbrella.

Dear Pantone at Drivel and Whatnot.

In Somewhat Disturbing News, It Appears Google Knows Something We Don't and the followup In Further News: Google Is Leaving Me Clues. It's Like 'Where in the World is Carmen SanDiego' But Also Not Really At All at April's Little Family.

On Finding My Nana's Diary From 1927, When She Was Twelve, and Comparing It To My Diary from 1985, When I Was Twelve at Goody Bastos.

Bonus! Rob's Transformers 2 F.A.Q.s! at Topless Robot.

1. Something bad happening to my kid.

2. Libertarians taking over the country.

3. Discovering in my 40s that I was just as self-absorbed and horrible in my 30s as I was in my 20s, and thus all my self-congratulation in my 30s about finally becoming a reasonable human being were delusional. And then having the cycle repeat in my 50s.

4. That I will be required to eat kale every day to stave off a deadly disease.

Boy Detective: Mommy, can you check and make sure there's coconut pie left in the box?

Me: There is. If that's the pie you want tomorrow, that's fine, you can have some.

Boy Detective: You're lying.

Five years ago this month, I married someone amazing.

So that I could have conversations like this:

C-Man: Have you seen my awesome anti-skeleton strategy in Dark Souls?

The Princess: What is your awesome anti-skeleton strategy?

C-Man: I f--ing punch 'em.

The Princess: O...kay.

C-Man: I can tell you doubt the awesomeness of my strategy.

C-Man, you don't read this blog, but in case you ever do: I love you even more now.

Even with the skeleton punching thing.