I wrote this post on March 7th. Why it didn’t post, I have no idea. So here ya go.

What? Sprinkles sounded better than snippets or blurbs or any other word to say that I don’t have a lot to say, just a few little sprinkles of thought.

1. Our backyard usually has great view. My favorite is the lush greens of spring and summer, followed by the bright golds and reds of fall, and even covered in snow it’s not too shabby. The dead trees of unsnowy winter are kind of ugly, but I can forgive them. You can’t be on all the time. So Wednesday morning, I was admiring the view of the epic snowfall when I noticed something amiss.

man down

man down

Hard to see, but that is a tree that fell onto our back patio. Our house is surrounded by trees and everytime there is a thunderstorm, I hold my breath waiting for a tree to fall on the house. I didn’t realize I had to worry about snow too. At least the tree looks relatively small and it probably didn’t do any damage. (There is a firepit in the middle of that patio, but we’ve never used it, so if it got damaged, not a big loss.)

2. Daisy woke me up in the middle of the night last night. She is a wonderful dog and has only woken me up 4-5 times ever and it has always been for good reason. So I got up, took her out…came back in and couldn’t fall back to sleep for the life of me. And I really appreciate her waking me up instead of having an accident…but can’t she wake Keith up once in a while? I think she sees me as some sort of gate keeper to the yard…only I have the power to let her relieve her bladder.

mom, you're weird.

you’re lucky you’re cute, little girl.

3. I went to Target yesterday to get cleaning supplies. I picked up a few other things because, hello, Target, and was home in my pajamas before I realized I didn’t have the Mr. Clean I had purchased. I drove back to Target, in my pajamas, and told them that one of my bags did not make it out. The lady asked what was in it, I told her, she retrieved it. On the bag was written “paid/left 3/6/13.” Now hold your horses, Target. Writing it like that places the blame squarely on me, when we both know it was your adorably young teenage cashier that withheld my bag. I’ll forgive you this one time, Target.