Texas is messing with my internal clock.
Here is why: Until recently it was 80 degrees during the day. It was sunny and the leaves hadn't fallen off of the trees. It has only just occurred to me that Thanksgiving is in 27 hours because up until a week ago it felt like September. It can't be Thanksgiving! It is September!
And then a cold front brought in some rainy, 34 degree weather.
It is not September. Here's how I know:
Halloween happened. We had an "Egyptian Lady," and ninja, a Frankie Stein again, a mermaid, and a boring old mom:
We also had a Trunk-or-Treat at church. I love Chancho, the hardcore ninja with royal blue tennis shoes:
Before that it was my birthday. My husband and kids threw a surprise party for me and gave me that humongous red birthday clock which I had been coveting at Hobby Lobby:
Before that I drove to Houston for my birthday to see the sights with my husband's sisters. We had birthday mochi and regular non-birthday sushi:
That's how I know it isn't September.
Here are some other happenings:
We've been having candlelit Sunday dinners. This was something that my Mom did that I was a teenager that I loved. It is interesting how two 75 cent candles can make a simple meal (with kids eating off of plastic plates) feel like a special occasion. It is one of those mysteries of the universe, like how adding tomatoes and sour cream to a taco makes it "supreme."
Next, we have been touring the local barbecue joints. I love barbecue. Here we are outside of one of our favorite finds, "It's All Good BBQ." It really is ALL good:
Oh, Texas. I think we're going to be good friends.
Here is a care package from DJ's aunt Val. I mean, seriously. Can't get enough of this Texas stuff:
Last weekend my kids and I roadtripped to Houston to visit some cousins who recently moved there. I cannot understate how comforting it is to have family within a three hour drive. Here they are having some much-needed cousin time:
Speaking of mystery meat, here's a word of warning to you. If it is Saturday and you and your husband are trying to find good barbecue and every place is sold out (this happens - the meat sells out, you shed a tear and move on) do not drive into the ghetto out of desperation - not because driving into the ghetto is a bad idea, but because barbecued meat from the ghetto might actually be barbecued stray cat and you will take three bites and then be faintly queasy for the rest of the day and have to eat a quarter of a Costco pumpkin pie to offset the cat flavor.
That happened. I think we accidentally ate cat.
I came away with a picture of this great mural, though:
