Three things:

1. Yesterday I wore a black shirt that Karen and/or Cami is letting me borrow whilst I steadily gain 1-5 pounds per day. As we were getting ready to leave for work, Tim said, “You look nice today.” Since I look and feel like a bloated seal, I was quite flattered and said, “Really?” He said, “Yeah. You look like a witch.” I’ve decided to take it as a compliment.

2. I grew up in Utah, and now I live in Massachusetts. I am often displeased with our nations’ leaders and/or the manner in which the country is being run, but I am patriotic enough to consider it an honor to vote – even though in Utah and Massachusetts polls are so polarized toward Republican or Democrat votes, respectively, my vote probably isn’t all that significant (statistically speaking). So it was quite exciting to me yesterday to participate in a very close election – one in which the outcome truly wasn’t known until the votes had been cast. I won’t tell you for whom I voted, but I will tell you that even our borderline-communist sister crossed party lines yesterday because she felt like one of the candidates “looks like s/he eats kittens for breakfast.” I stood in line for a half hour at the polls (completely reasonable to participate in such an honor, right?). At one point, a youngish pretty gal walked in smacking gum and talking on her cell phone. She said, “Is this the line?” We nodded a communal “yes,” and she screeched into her phone, “Oh my (gosh), I am NOT voting today. It’s TOTALLY not worth it,” and stormed out in her 6-inch stiletto-heeled boots. I beg to differ, sister.3. I cannot put on my socks anymore. Tim and I have a morning ritual where I sit on the bed and he lovingly covers my feet, usually with one of the 600 pairs of fabulous Smartwool stockings he gave me for Christmas. Though when I say, “lovingly” what I really mean is that with great love, he harshly runs his finger up the sole of my foot to test my “Babinski reflex” - if you can't recall experiencing this procedure, it’s more irritating than listening to hundreds of fingernails being dragged across a chalkboard, and is particularly tortuous for those of us blessed with really ticklish feet. It is performed on infants fresh out of the womb to make sure neurological systems are intact, and rarely thereafter from what I understand. He claims that he (depending on the day) either just wants to make sure everything is still okay, or is just trying to give me an “awesome foot rub.”