Two days ago, we attended our niece’s wedding in Virginia. The ceremony and reception were held at a beautiful and exclusive resort on the banks of the James River. I’m pretty sure they wanted to turn us away at the gate, because our Cadillac wasn’t fancy enough.

The bride and the guests were gorgeous, decked out in clothes so fabulous that the sunset paled in comparison. Following the ceremony, the wedding party had photographs taken while we were treated to scrumptious hors d’oeuvres in truly lovely surroundings.

After finding out I have a love for something called “mushroom cigars” and even more love for something called an “open bar”, it was time for the reception.

As we left the riverbank and stepped inside to the five-course, sit-down dinner, I grabbed my son’s hand and told my daughter to follow behind.

We entered on the far end of the hall and zig-zagged through the crowd, looking for the table number that matched our place card. I nodded politely and said, “Excuse me”, numerous times as the three of us wiggled around the room.

Little did I know that I should have been excusing my son’s behavior, not mine, because when we arrived at our table my daughter said, “Mom! Your son smacked the butt of every person we passed by!”

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My six year old son was playing Marble Blast on the computer when I thought it would be a good idea for him to stop his game and come read me a book. Because really? Who can get enough of Ten Apples Up on Top? The antics and drama always keep me coming back for more.

I called from the living room, “Hey, why don’t you come in here and read me a story?”

And it’s a good thing I knew he was playing a game, because he replied, “Okay, but wait until I die first!”

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A few months ago, my husband started a new job. His office isn’t particularly close to our house though. Because of that distance, and for various other reasons, I had never gone to visit his new digs with the kids. None of those reasons being that I was hoping to drop 20 pounds before meeting his new co-workers.

But, today he asked that we come up so I could hang some pictures for him and so he could introduce us to the people he hangs out with all day long.

I did my best to make the kids look presentable, I flat-ironed my hair, made up my face, and spent a half hour deciding what to wear. Though, that outfit turned out to NOT be good enough, so I stopped at a department store on the way to his office to buy a new shirt.

After we parked, I wiped off my son’s face and made sure my daughter’s hair wasn’t sticking out in all the wrong places.

But, I forgot to tell my son not to make comments about what people look like.

The first person we saw was the middle-aged receptionist, to whom my son quickly referred to as, “Grandma”.

And, the second person we met was a lovely lady whose face my son crept close to, then he looked her in the eye and said, “You have a little, little, little mole.”

I should’ve known that with my kid around, the least of my worries would be what I looked like.

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My daughter just returned home from a three-day trip to my Mom’s house. I figured it would be good for my kid to have some time alone with her Grandma.

Grandma reported that her youngest grand-daughter was polite, helpful, and easy to get along with, and that they had a wonderful time together. In fact, it was so wonderful that my Mom said, “I asked her if she wanted to move in with me.”

I laughed, knowing full well that my daughter would have none of that. My Mom doesn’t own a Wii…or even a computer. The horrors.

I asked, “What did she say?”

Proud Grandma replied, “Well, she said she’d love to! But, I told her she would miss you guys too much. And, do you know what she said to that?”

“No,” I answered hesitantly. What?”

“She said that as long as she had a picture of you and could occasionally see you on weekends, she’d be just fine.”

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