Cousin Fucknut is about to get unfriended.

I have a large family. We've got this one little... middle of nowhere, proudly ignorant, not overly bright, redneck branch. I would rather know whats going on with them than not and, frankly, facebook level contact is about all I'd go for even if they DID live close by. Hell, half the time they aren't even speaking to one another...

So, generally, scrolling by their shit is worth it to know they're alive, who is giving birth, see their latest poor-quality tattoo, and occasionally get to Snopes them.

But this week... This one isn't particularly religious so I can't even bible him for his shit (that can be fun too).

OK, I'm off to take the Examiners Exam. Wish me luck, I could use it, I have very little idea what to expect.

Good luck!

Trudy, I've been setting people to see fewer posts, which helps.

Clear thinking, -t!

I cook a lovely healthy dinner, taking their tastes into account; they would rather eat spaghetti-os. SIGH.

My mother's solution was to not expose us to spaghetti-os. Living in the third world it wasn't too hard, but she did manage to keep us pretty culinarily isolated until she sent us off to university. There are so many things I've never tried.

Timelies all! Sitting in the lobby of the Filkontario hotel, soaking up the free Wi-Fi. First program item of interest is at 1.

Heh, that reminds me of my S-i-L's insistence that her kids NEVER see several pablumic kidzshows like the Smurfs and Teletubbies. Not because necessarily she thought they'd be hurtful as much as not-helpful, but she was damned if she'd have to listen to them in the background.

They are turning out to be fine young men, so clearly she is onto something. (She's also the one who came up with Toy Jail.)

We were not allowed to watch The Smurfs as kids. I have no idea why.

I am pretty sure, however, that most of the kids we thought were our friends were just so besotted with my mother's cooking that they needed an excuse to keep getting invited over for dinner.

God, I wish I lived closer so I could have more home-cooked meals (I don't cook, the Army ruined that for me).

I never ate particularly well as a kid...I ate a lot of hot dogs...but we never had enough money for my mom to indulge our needs for spaghettios or beefaroni. And my own natural aversion of Kraft Dinner kept me away from that.

After my ginormous Cosmo last night, I ended up falling asleep on the couch around 9:30. I a such a wild child.

One of the hardest things for me as a parent is the general ungratefulness of children.

I still haven't figured out a way to deal with this very well, but I do try and remember that I was at least 25 before I had any appreciation for the excellence of my parents. Then I remind myself that the boys will likely realize they were shitheads and feel really guilty when they are 30. Yes, I look forward to this day. Bad mom = me.

I must say that the boys and DH do express appreciation and praise for my cooking skills on a regular basis. They know how to keep fed.