Well, I don't even have a title today.

Alright, I feel very super unbloggy lately. I am only posting because I am tired of that labor post being there when there is no labor going on. Actually, I think I have been in labor for two weeks now. Really super boring slow labor that just makes me contract miserably all the time with out ever turning into REAL labor. That is new for me. Usually I feel nothing til the end. But wait, am I typing about labor again when I just said the ONLY reason I am posting at all is because I am tired of my top post being about labor?? Sheesh.

Well, you know what I like? I like Mike. Yes, I like that he came home from doing some type of DI service on Saturday bearing (baring?) roses and eclairs for me for no reason (and I don't think they were simply a DI donation he grabbed a hold of . . .) BUT, that is the type of thing I should not be typing because there is no reason to make everyone cry their eyes out that their husband did NOT return home with flowers and eclairs this week. (Although, it is Thanksgiving time and we all need to be able to tell our little things we are thankful for, so. . . .) Still, here is something I like that should cause no "Hey no fair!" feelings. It will just make you all like Mike too. He recently, totally out of the blue, said to our children, "So, kids, are you getting excited for Thanksgiving when the Grand Turkey and his Cranberry Helpers will be coming to visit?" Our kids just happily laughed and shook their heads, but I wish they would come. Where did he come up with The Grand Turkey and his Cranberry Helpers? Every time I think of the Grand Turkey and his Cranberry Helpers I get so happy. Some how, some way, I must work them into our holiday traditions.

Also, I like Goldie. She loves to help. Really. Today, after she washed all the dishes (and she did a darn fine job), I told her that she would take such good care of her own home some day. I forgot for a minute the rule of never mentioning growing older to Goldie. She whipped around and tensely reminded me, "I don't want to grow up and have my own house. I want to stay me -- your little helper." Oh, she is my little helper.

There, no more labor in the top post . . . well, except for that opening paragraph, but what's to be done? It's far too late for me to consider deleting now. I'm probably in labor and need to be rushing to the hospital.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO ALL OF YOU!!! I hope the Grand Turkey and his Cranberry Helpers pay you all a visit and do whatever it is they do . . . I'll have to ask Mike for more details. But really, I just don't get tired of saying "The Grand Turkey and his Cranberry Helpers" . . . and I hope none of you got tired of reading it. If so, don't mention it. I will think you are a Thanksgiving scrooge. Ohhh, I hope the Grand Turkey isn't THEE turkey . . . as in the turkey you eat and his little cranberry side dish. That would ruin everything!! No no, the Grand Turkey is a big happy turkey and his helpers are bouncing, happy, round little cranberry folk; and once, when I was in Las Vegas, I went to the Ocean Spray factory . . . or the Cranberry factory? Something. Anyway, there was a little dance put on by the Cran Cran girl, so I know first hand just how cheery cranberry helpers can be . . . but that is neither here nor there. (P.S. Maybe I am the scrooge . . . I don't actually like cranberry sauce. BUT, I stand firmly by my liking for cranberry helpers).