Why is it that when people fill their cars up with gas, they feel the need to squeeze it out dropwise to end at an even dollar amount? I used to do this until I realized that it made no sense - even if I pay an even $20, my checkbook will likely still have an odd balance (although technically, I guess 'zero' is considered an even number). Now I just stop when the pump shuts off and take whatever dollar figure it lands on.

(Rhetorical question #2 for today: Why do I think about stupid stuff like this?)

Raleigh (well, actually Cary) just got a Trader Joe's grocery store. I've never heard of it which, of course, means nothing, but apparently it's very popular with the transplants over in the Corral Area for Relocated Yankees. The News & Observer dubs Trader Joe's popularity a cult following. What exactly would a "cult" grocery store look like? Employees in black Goth robes roaming the aisles threatening to behead you if you didn't buy the orange Kool-Aid? Of course, I know that's not the kind of cult to which they're referring, but you must admit it makes for an entertaining mental picture.

Anyway, after the novelty wears off I may venture over there to check it out despite my resolve to steer clear of Cary at all costs. The candy-cane-cream-filled cookies they are handing out may just be worth the trip. Anybody know anything about it? Comment at will.

I had the joy of experiencing Thanksgiving three times last week and I'm not talking about leftovers. Ollie and Grover both had Thanksgiving "feasts" with their respective classes, then we had the real deal on Thursday. In a slight variation on tradition, I invited Lucy and her family over for Thanksgiving dinner. I had previously invited my parents but they declined to join us after they found out Lucy's family was coming. Not that my parents don't like her family, but Lucy has two boys Grover and Ollie's age and you can imagine the chaos that typically ensues when they get together. We all had a lot of fun, though, and I'm certainly not sorry for the way things turned out. It was actually far less stressful than it usually is when my parents come to our house.

The day after Thanksgiving, we went to the NC Zoo then drove up to the mountains. On Saturday, we visited The Blowing Rock, the Mast General Store and a Christmas tree farm where we chose and cut our Christmas tree. We were a little overzealous and picked out a 9-ft monster that takes up a third of our family room. I love it, though. It looks fabulous! Of course, putting it up was challenging to say the least. My husband had to cut quite a bit off the bottom (since our ceilings are only 9 feet high) and we struggled to get it in the house and in the tree stand. It almost toppled over while we were hanging ornaments, but we caught it and my husband stabilized it by putting shims in the tree stand. Then we suspected a problem when we had to keep adding water. Not having ever had a tree this fresh, we first thought it was just thirsty. Then my husband figured out that there was a crack in the tree stand that was allowing the water to flow freely all over the carpet. So he made a quick trip up to Target to buy another (bigger) tree stand. Ever so carefully, he and I maneuvered the tree - fully decorated, mind you - out of the old stand and into the new one. There were no casualties save a muscle in my husband's back. So now the tree is in the middle of the family room while the carpet dries. If it sounds like something out of a Chevy Chase movie, that's pretty accurate. But wait, there's more. My parents asked us to pick a tree for them, too, so we did. We picked a second slightly less full 9-ft beauty for them. While my husband was unloading it from the roof of the Mom Taxi, he dropped it and the top snapped off. So now it's a 7-ft somewhat misshapen beauty. My parents weren't concerned, however. After all, these are the people who one year had to surgically re-attach limbs to the bottom of the Christmas tree after having removed a few too many and another year wired the tree to the family room wall to keep it from falling over. Now that's something out of a movie!

Sorry about the hiatus there, but after the camping weekend I needed a little "me" time. What a joke! More like I needed a little laundry time. The camping trip went well, in spite of my poor planning and total lack of weather-appropriate clothing. I failed to pack a single long-sleeve shirt/sweater/sweatshirt for myself. Oh, and gloves - forgot those, too. Needless to say, "outdoorsy" is not a word anyone who knows me would use to describe me. In fact, on my reference for Girl Scouts, Lucy (formerly known as St. Mary and re-named due to her penchant for hanging out her shingle and charging me a nickel for homespun psychological advice) wrote something to the effect of "what she lacks in outdoor skills, she more than makes up for in organization, planning and enthusiasm". The lack of outdoor skills was the only truthful part of that statement.

Anyway, the camp is set up like an army encampment typical during the Revolutionary War. We really didn't have to do too much work (big sigh of relief...) and we got to do cool things like throw tomahawks and shoot a real flintlock musket. I'm proud to say that I was one of only three people that hit the target with the musket and the only one that hit both. I may not be able to cook over an open fire, but damn if I can't kill stuff. All in all, it was a lot of fun. Until we got home and I damn near killed Beaker 'cause of all her whining. We had a rather heated exchange (with me doing most of the exchanging) which ended with a hard smack on the ass for Beaker and Grover looking on in horror with eyes as big as dinner plates. It was tense for a while, but after baths and a nap, we were all on speaking terms again. I suspect, however, that MF will never leave Beaker in my care again. She always says "it takes a village" referring to child-rearing, but the village idiot (me) may have taken things a bit too far this time.

This weekend Grover, Beaker and I are going on a Girl Scout camping adventure. Now, this is not just any camping trip. We are going to Camp Flintlock which is designed to replicate the lives of the colonists. We are going to dress in period clothing, do all our chores (gathering water, chopping wood, cooking over a brick-lined fire pit) and sleep on the ground covered by nothing more than a blanket strung over a clothesline. Okay, we'll have sleeping bags, but still... It's supposed to be in the 30's tonight - a temperature I haven't spent a great deal of time exposed to since I lived in Wisconsin and certainly not conditions I've slept in in a very long time (and that was in college camping out for basketball tickets). Oh and did I mention that for every adult, there are five 6-10 YO girls who will most likely be whining by 8:00 tomorrow morning.

Clearly, I have lost my mind.