I "allowed" my parents to take the kids to the Swimming Lagoon of Unsavory Biological Organism Status this afternoon.

They said: "Can we have the grandkids this afternoon to..."

And I said: "Yes!" before they even finished the sentence. Summer doldrums haven't quite set in yet, but togetherness, it chafes a bit. I won't lie about that.

So, I packed the kids off with the parental unit, and took myself off to see a movie. All by myself, like a big girl. And then I reviewed it over at BlogHer.

Did you know that reviewing movies is sort-of difficult? My problem is that 1) until recently, I haven't seen a lot of movies and 2) I don't want to give anything away. But hey, I have an excuse to see movies! That is a good thing, right? And, as an added bonus, I can see the movies that my husband doesn't want to see by myself and not feel guilty!

After the movie, I headed to the Swimming Hole of Doom to meet up with my parents, and deliver a bag of marshmellows to roast over coals. Although I've sworn off refined sugar and flours for the month of June, I had to have me a roasted marshmellow. Or two.

Or okay, I had 10 of them. And then, sugared up, I regaled my children with my best Valley Girl impression, to which my son shouted, in between gales of giggles - "Mom's talking like a teenage-uh."

Like, totally. I'm so sure. To the MAX.

The swimming lagoon was fine, or at least it looked fine. The water part. All of the shore and grass areas were covered in goose poop. LIke, ohmigod. Every square foot was peppered with goose poop.

We decided that my youngest should now answer to Goose Poop. It suits her.

That should get us some great looks in the checkout line, huh?

I had a point to all this, but I'm tipsy blogging, so point-schmoint. Points are so 2006.