Interviewer: What if anything would you like to say to the families of the victims?

Broadnax: (stares at the camera for a moment) F*ck 'em. Straight up.

In a jailhouse interview with Fox news, nineteen-year-old James Broadnax confesses to killing Matt and Steven. (NOTE: Footage is uncensored; discretion is advised.) The unspeakable irony, as Mister Nygren learned at the funeral yesterday, was that Matt and Steven were only at the studio so late because they were putting the finishing touches on a song they'd recorded together... called "We All Die Before Our Time."

In their public statements, the grieving families have expressed pity towards Broadnax and his cousin (who was present but didn't pull the trigger). I'd like to say that pity was my first or even overwhelming second response, but... I'd be lying. I wanted justice. Not even the I-hope-you-get-life-without-parole kind of justice, I'm ashamed to admit. More of the blind-outrage variety that causes mobs of otherwise sane people to do unjust things in the name of justice. Realizing that carrying out that sort of thing would make me no less cold-blooded than the murderer himself, though, I had to start praying that God would show James Broadnax the kind of mercy that I wanted Him to show me.

Broadnax tells the interviewer that his life has been hell, and that he intends to die, whether at his own hand or the state's. "I don't want [a] life [sentence]," he says flatly. It bears mentioning, though,  that at the end of the video -- mere moments after the chilling retort quoted above -- the stone-cold-killer facade crumbles. Broadnax appears to be fighting back tears as he slams down the receiver, rises abruptly from his chair and exits the visitation booth.

Watching him, I am finally overcome with pity as I realize that he, too, died before his time...

I admit it: I've started two other entries between the last one and now, saved them both as drafts in progress, and didn't want to wait until I felt witty enough to finish them before posting again. Having been notified by a couple folks who love me that my blog is the way they keep up with the adventure/comedy known as my life, I wanted to be sure I didn't leave them hanging. This won't be any great shakes, but it oughta get the job done. Here goes:

1) Little Man is [finally] going to sleep in his big boy bed on his own. He's been in it for more than a month (ever since he figured out how to launch himself out of his crib, the tricky little dickens) but until recently, Mister Nygren and I have been taking turns lying down beside him at night until he loses consciousness. Realizing that in a few short months we won't have that luxury, we decided it was time for him to learn to stay in bed just because we said so, and not because he was physically incapable of doing otherwise. Our early attempts were met with nearly an hour of crying and feigning owwies each night to get us to return to his room. After a couple weeks of sticking to our guns, though, it seems to have worked. So for five GLORIOUS days now, he has climbed into bed, said his prayers ("Tanks [something unintelligible] Daddy... tanks [something unintelligible] Baby... amen"), offered hugs and kisses and lay quietly until he's drifted off.
Much rejoicing, albeit slightly softer than daytime volume, was heard throughout the Abbey.

2) I can make my own sauerkraut. Hot damn.
I threw in some gold beets just because I'd seen them at the market and they looked interesting, and they're magical in sauerkraut. My cabbage looked happier just for having them in there. If you like sauerkraut and you've only had the heat-treated kind that comes in a can or jar, you have no earthly idea what you're missing.  Email me and I'll hook you up. I just started another batch tonight with apples in it...

3)At this stage of development, my little Sugar Bean has a strong heartbeat, lots of functioning organs, fingerprints, and... no midwife. The only one covered on my insurance won't take me because I'm trying for a VBAC, and the out-of-pocket cost of using one who isn't in-network may prove too great for us. (Ironically, that cost would still be about one-third the price of a hospital birth. Midwives, understandably, need their money before you deliver; a hospital, on the other hand, can just bill you... and bill you... and bill you.) I may just need to wait until my economic-stimulus money comes in from the gubmint to get what I'm looking for... or, I may just need to take this as a sign from God that I should make plans to deliver with an OB. Guess we'll see.

4) Last night was my final show with The Elder Statesmen in its current incarnation; Robert and Mickey (bass player and drummer, respectively) have taken other projects. Darius and Ron (keys and percussion) have been gracious enough not to vote me off the island yet -- maybe because I'm now not just the only female member, but the only pale one as well, and every otherwise-homogenous group needs a Token :) -- so I'm eager to discover what musical relationships and adventures lie ahead.

There's more, but... I'm tired. Much love -- and sweet dreams -- to all.

Sad, when it takes someone spamming your blog to bring you back to it.

Apologies for my absence. I've had a lot on my mind and on my plate.
Since I posted last:

...Little Man has taken another leap into irrepressible TWO-ness
...I've started doing contract work from home to bring in a bit more income
...we got a new part-time pet (someone's rooster who wanders into our yard)
...my best friend asked me to be "hot mom of honor" in her upcoming wedding 

More in the near-ish future. Meanwhile, for those who need a laugh as badly as I do (and aren't offended by the f-bomb), enjoy.

To be fair, the gourmet market responsible for this egregious faux pas has posted an apology, even if it was a painfully nondescript one. Still... oy gevalt.

It's early, and I don't typically do coffee in the morning, but I'll make an exception for this: