To Which We All Say: Thank You Lord

So a certain blog reader was hanging out at my house this afternoon, and she started giving me a bit of a hard time about the um, brevity of my posts of late.

"We've noticed," said she, "that it's becoming a picture, with maybe some words underneath." (And around here even less than that.)

This reader wasn't down on what I say. She simply noted that it's far less than in times past. To which I said, I'd like you to meet Lord Henry the Eight-Month-Old (he who I found STANDING UP in his crib this morning.). And she said, I already know Henry. He is my grandson.

I have a story I'd like to share, all about how we were watching a certain back-to-back-episodes high-quality drama last night.

But first, we go to the early afternoon, when for some crazy reason I flexed my muscles for the boys. I can't remember if I was threatening someone or stretching or just trying to impress them all with the beauty that is my (tiny) bicep. But somehow Elliott looked at me utterly amazed.

"Mom," he said, "You've got some guns!"

A few hours later, we sat watching Chuck Norris mourn the injuries of his soon-to-be-fiancee-but-not-as-yet (because a sniper tried to take her out just as he was about to propose, if you can believe that. I had to fight back tears for my darling Chuck.). At one point, Chuck was in the shower and for a rare moment we the viewer were treated to the full quan that is Chuck Norris. Usually Chuck keeps his shirt on, because I think the folks at Hallmark know that our central nervous systems could not handle seeing Chuck's pecs on a regular basis. The world as we know it would spontaneously implode from the sight of all that muscle-ly goodness.

So there was Chuck, standing in the shower, his impressive triceps and biceps glistening, and there seemed to be a collective hush come over my living room.

"Sorry mom," Elliott said after a moment, "but Chuck's guns are bigger than yours."