Heck, it's hectic!

I guess, soon enough, hectic is gonna be my middle name. Especially after this weekend. The good thing was that I met my new aunts, drooled over uncle Jon, fell for an Afghani dress (and cuisine), and hanged out in the coffee shops and parks while the dog stayed at home. The bad thing was there was like hundred degrees outside and it was so humid that you weren’t able to breathe without thinking you're being water-boarded. The only good thing about this weather was the lightning bugs that were going crazy in our backyard... but then, I could watch them just when I took the dog to poop and that activity kind-a spoiled the romantic mood.

But back to the weekend. It was good even though my head was past the boiling point and you could fry an egg on my stroller. But we had a nice walk in Princeton, mommy kicked aunt Katka's butt in a really humiliating attempt at a Wii boxing match, we went to Philly (and luckily I was too young to get drafted, otherwise I think my mom would send me to Boston right then and there along with those losers in Abraham-Lincoln-style uniforms)… as I said, hectic. I wasn't even able to take a nap (not that I would really need to). And next weekend won't be any easier. Friday is the stars-and-stripes day, on Saturday my grandma's coming, on Sunday I'll have to play with all the toys she's gonna bring me, and on Monday we plan to go to NYC. There's no rest for the wicked.

I'd shoot Aslan's head off

My daddy was crushed, smashed, perforated, stabbed, shot in his face/body/and limbs of all kinds, driven over, ignited, blown up, and pulverized last night. It was a cute little deathmatch from what I could tell. I especially liked the part when uncle Jon smashed my daddy against the wall or when daddy got so excited about finding a bazooka that he didn't realize he wasn't the only one who did and got blasted into oblivion. Don't take me wrong, I like my daddy—but there is still a strange kind of satisfaction in the fact that since he doesn’t want me cover his back (and instead, he insists on me falling asleep at 8pm while listening to Narnia), he then gets his head shot off. It's not that I mind talking lions and mice, but I sincerely believe that the Russian mob and Little Jacob have more practical life lessons in store for me than Caspian and Lucy combined. It's tough but true, ain't it uncle Jon?

PS: Can I be on your team next time?