All Rileyed Up

Little girls, man, little girls. When she does this:

I feel like this:

(Yeah. Yeah, I know I took a picture of my daughter having a meltdown. You know why she was upset? Because I SHUT A DOOR. Yeah. So I took the picture. Sue me.)

How am I supposed to know that you don’t want to wear the pink dress and you do want to wear the green dress? Or you don’t want help getting into the car this time but you do want help that time? Or you’re not ready to go today and you can’t wait to leave tomorrow?

My head hurts. Enough that I’m actually starting to believe there is a point to this website.

Coincidentally, today’s email quote of the day was “What sane person could live in this world and not be crazy?” Amen to you, Ursula K. Le Guin, amen I say.

I know I’ve been slacking on the postcard front this month. We moved things around the house, and my scanner is no longer in the same room as my computer, and its AMAZING the amount of effort it takes to bring my computer to another room.

Amazing.

Sometimes, I just think life might have been easier, back in the day, without computers, or scanners, or plumbing, living with the likes of these fine fellows:

Billy Bob Thornton goes home for his family reunion.

Tangible evidence that them mountain folk believed in equal opportunity for men and women in the work force.

For anyone who ever wondered “how many overalls does it take to make a tacky postcard?” I now have the answer.

I think he’s checking it out her ass (the milkmaid’s not the cow’s).
You know, it’s kind of hard to see what’s going on in that outhouse. If only I had a zoom-in option on this postcard.

Oh hey! Look! Another postcard just like it, zoomed in—

Ask and ye shall receive.

And what is she milking the cow for?

Milk, of course. Milk to add to the Potato Pie:

Know why he’s grinning? Because the recipe requires an entire stick of butter.