It gave me fiendish delight to watch my son try and try and try to cram a binder-sized storybook into his new BlogHer/Google backpack.

It won't fit, toots. Cry if you must.

While I'm still basking in the glow of the weekend, I'm also slowing waking to reality. One of my dearest friends is arriving from New Zealand with her beau and another gentleman that I haven't met yet...TOMORROW. I have about 50 loads of laundry to do RIGHT NOW.

The laundry situation was just exacerbated by the apparently ritual dumping of a mug of Organic Tomato & Roasted Red Pepper Soup onto the head of one small boy by one slightly larger girl. Good for the scalp? Perhaps. Good for my comforter and the pile of folded, clean laundry sitting next to the small boy? Not so much.

This is what I get for allowing television and comfort foods in my bedroom for sick kids who apparently are past the weak/meek/mewling stage. No soup for you!

I've got the washer churning away, and the kids are leaping about in the pile of dirty laundry, scattering socks and washcloths like raked leaves. "Whee!" they are yelling. "Whoopee!"

Whoopee, indeed. There is nothing more delightful than a big ole pile of dirty clothes.

So, back to the arrival of my friend, her beau, and her other friend. Since her departure to New Zealand, there has been much speculation about their romance. We haven't met the beau yet, although we've seen pictures, and he is a fine, fine man. We exchange emails full of pleasantries and little life summaries, but we want details. Nitty gritty details, and thus far, she has been coy.

We (another dear friend and I) are planning to kidnap her at first sighting and drag her off to a bar for a thorough debriefing.

That sounds dirty. Heh.

I sort of feel bad about needing the details. I tend to overshare (Hi! I have a blog!) so I sometimes view lack of information as a snub. I can see how rude that is. I have to work on that - right after we squeeze every last drop of information out of my homecoming friend.