See wha had happen was . . .

A lot of boring stuff.

It was sick kids, sick Chris, Christmas, sick kids, Florida, sick me, blah, blah, blah.

Florida was good this year. Owen perfected the art of shooting fireballs. He used to just shoot them with his eyes, but now he knows that you have to point your finger and say "pssshw" for maximum impact.

Since we got back from Florida, Owen has cried every time he had to go outside.

I understand, man.

When I picked the boys up at school on Monday, Sam said, "We're going to dinner at Hoppa Homma's house today!"

"Not this Monday, buddy, they are still in Florida."

"WHAT?! They need to come HOME."

"I know, I miss them too."

"I don't MISS THEM, they just need to come home because they are just STAYING in Florida and NOT COMING HOME so now I can't go to their house for dinner and that's not fair and they just need to come HOME and stop staying in Florida so much."

And Owen said, "But Homma is pwetty nice to me."

And Sam said, "OWENAH. Stop disreplacing me!"

And Owen said, "But she is. She made me a Homma bwanket because she's got a wot of yarn."

"OWEN. That doesn't even got anything to DO with Florida."

"Yes it does. She had yarn in Florida."

Touche.