Wine and cookies?

I suppose it depends on the cookie.

And? Better then grape juice and peeps.

I'm having a glucose reaction to my last sentance.

I have no wine. However, I'm eating a no-bake cookie (those peanut butter-chocolate-oatmeal things).

I do not serve nice wine. I would have had some, but had no clue what a nice wine might look like in its natural habitat. I am a wine philistine.

Perkins, tell about the RocknRoll Hall of fame. Was it fun? Did you enjoy?

I am going to bed now, but I expect a report!

The Perkins is a lovely hang-out partner. I'm glad you guys are having fun Steph.

Night!

Gronk.

Brief update before collapsing in bed alongside Hec:

We went out to Albany after work today to visit with Emmett, who was sprawled out on his mom's living room floor happily absorbed in his Harry Potter Legos. At barely 24 hours after the faceball, he looks... actually, not that bad. The bridge of his nose is wider and flatter and arches oddly, giving him a faintly lion cub appearance (he and his mom went to school today just to visit for a few minutes, and one of his friends said, "I'm going to call you Lion Boy from now on!"), but it's not discolored or bruised. Two smallish scabs on the bridge of the nose, a hint of purply shadow under his eyes but nothing at all like an actual black eye. It's not quite the Emmett face we remember, but all things considered it could be considerably worse.

Emmett himself was cheerful and casual and bubbling with the news that his mom had taken him to the firehouse to re-meet all the EMTs who'd driven him to the hospital, and how they'd all told him about all of their broken bones. He cuddled with David, cuddled with Emily, introduced me to his stuffed animals, and finally curled up to watch Duck Soup. When Emily reminded him that he wouldn't be playing wallball for a while because of his nose, he said, "I know. Because it's broken. It's still so weird, it's not even real. I'm still geeking out about it!"

Emily told us the story of their visit to the school, which apparently caused quite a stir: his teacher had told the class that he wouldn't be there today because, as she infelicitously put it, "he was in an accident." At which two of his classmates burst into tears, convinced that he was dead; one of the two spent the morning fantasizing about hunting down the people who'd killed Emmett and killing them, killing them a lot. Then Emmett walked in. Tears of joy! A miracle! Hail the conquering Lion Boy!

He's content and pain-free but still icing his nose once an hour or so and pounding back the Children's Motrin, and he's going to his team's game on Saturday to sit in the dugout, in full uniform, and cheer; then on Monday he has his first visit to the ENT doc, who will x-ray him and decide what happens next.

So, to sum up: Emmett, nose looks odd but still handsome, sweet, happy and doing fine. Emmett's parents, wrecked.

So, to sum up: Emmett, nose looks odd but still handsome, sweet, happy and doing fine. Emmett's parents, wrecked.

Awww. Hug that husband of yours for me, please. Kid trauma, even when a common injury, is still just exhausting.

And then tell him to hug *you*, also for me. Because kid trauma is no less traumatic just because you have "step-" in front of "parent."

I < heart > Emmet's classmates, JZ. What a bunch of (incredibly vengeful) sweeties.

Oh, Emmett. All my thoughts are with him and his family tonight. Take care of yourselves, you guys.

If it's any consolation, my nose was broken when I was in college, and as you all know I am almost unbelievably adorable. Like a fluffy kitten atop a cloud or maybe a puff of meringue.

{{{Emmett}}} {{{Hec}}} {{{JZ}}}

OK, having attended a serious, solemn Maundy Thursday service at my church, I now find myself at one of my favorite blogs looking at The Passion of the Tchotchke and Stations of the Kitsch.

I feel like there is such a stigma attached to that little dark black "edited by Rio" tag.

Rio!! How was The Rico of Costa? Were chips and salsa consumed and sunblock slathered?