So, somewhere between making marmalade and re-arranging our entire apartment, I remembered that there is a huge snow stom bearing down on the East Coast and that my mom still lives somewhere over there by herself. Well, she lives with a slow moving, cross-bred Bichon who, like many oversized lap dogs is not prone to either adventure or saving lives. In my book, that's living by one's self. I decided to stop shuffling Austin's books around and give her a call. She was asleep. I woke her up. She was a bit crabby. That time difference can be a real drag sometimes. And funnily enough, she already knew she was having a snowstorm.

My mother, bless her heart, is stuck in her home, the cable is knocked out, the dog has knocked herself out with her own personal brand of Bichon-Stupid. Her world sucks. But she did not care. What she cared about was the fact that I had so far neglected to wish my baby sister a happy birthday.

Katie, in the interest of not pissing our poor snowbound mother off anymore (and because I love you) I would like to officially wish you a happy birthday. Even though apparently you are sick.

Patrick would also be here for the Birthday wishing but he is out teaching the Mexican Waldorf Children how to shear sheep using well cared for, antique equipment.

Katie, please call mom after you've read this. And see if she needs a shovel.