A weekend so full of estrogen it will be scary

The boys are leaving this weekend to go and watch themselves a little college football game. Live and in-person, in the great state of Texas. (Which hopefully won't leave them too disappointed when if the Cougs lose.)

Ha. I say that as if I know what I'm talking about. Implying that I honestly care about college football.

I slay myself.

Anyhoo, the little Princess and I are on our own for the next few days, and, boy, has she ever got plans. She brought up a large stack of DVDs last night, informing me that THIS is what we'd be watching. I smiled as I noticed that my all-time favorite was at the top of the pile. Though she's tried many times to make it the whole five hours, she has never yet managed to stay awake long enough to meet the entertaining Mr. Collins, let alone see the love story through to the end. Something tells me this could be the time. FINALLY she will see Pemberly and understand why I swoon at the thought of Mr. Darcy jumping all sweaty and such into the water.

Her wanting to watch it also tells me that I am absolutely raising that girl right.

She also made a lengthy list of things she and I are to do while the boys are gone. Top of her list is shopping for clothes at the mall, shopping at the scrapbook store, actual scrapbooking, manicures & pedicures, and watching a lot of "girl movies."

I am pretty sure this will be the best weekend. EVER. Hope yours is, too.

P.S. Did you know a while back my brother Dan created a blog whose sole purpose is mocking me? Please pay him a visit and tell him how much you love me. That would tick him off something awful. While you're there, you can have a good laugh at what I looked like in sixth grade.

Yes, I know. Some things are just that frightening.

I made it through another winter without killing anyone

What do you do when you look out your window mid-March and THIS is the sight you see?

You celebrate, that's what. For it is not snow covering the branches, but lovely, puffy, popcorn-like blossoms.

These lovely blossoms can only mean one thing: Time to put away the winter coat and pull out the flip-flops.

To say that the winter and I don't really get along would be a major understatement. We are mortal enemies, the winter and I. She hates me as much as I hate her.

In fact, I'm pretty sure that she exists merely to spite me. She takes such devilish pleasure in her ice storms and her wind chill. And she flaunts that ugly brown slush for months, like a bad outfit worn over and over until you're so sick of it you could scream.

I have never liked her. My dislike grew to loathing after experiencing the bitter wind and negative temperatures that make up a Minnesota winter.

My loathing turned to manic rage when, every year, Nor'easter after Nor'easter pummeled the city of Boston, and I was left to shovel 1,945,493 tons of snow, on my own, as the husband was always conveniently out of town.

And frequently out of town in better climates.

But finally, FINALLY, I am living in a place where winter doesn't linger until May. Here, the first day of spring actually means something.

Like, you know, that it's actually the first day of spring.

What a concept, eh?

I might need you to remind me of my great love for this state, say, mid-July, when my hair and I are cursing our other mortal enemy: HUMIDITY.

Until then, I will relish my love affair with the spring. I will sit on a blanket in my backyard, the sunshine gently warming my shoulders. I will look up and smile at my children's laughter, as they run and bike in the fresh air. I will take a luxurious sip of the diet coke by my side, and then return eagerly to the book in my lap.

Ah, spring. I wish our torrid love affair could last all year long. Don't you?