Mom, Dad – Is Thomas in your attic? I need to know.
OK. Moving on.
I’m only going to do this one more time, at least today. Because right now the horse is already dead. And I am beating it with very little mercy.
This Daylight Savings thing. I thought we’d made it through unscathed. Why was I thinking that? Am I above natural law? On Sunday, I thought perhaps I was developing that skill. And I am thankful that Sunday was smooth and pleasant from start to finish. But that was Sunday. And we’re at Tuesday now.
I typically blog at night. You might note the fact that I didn’t last night. That’s because I had been whipped about the head and neck all day by my four short people and two extras. Four + two more makes SIX. Not just a regular six, either. Six that are under the influence of DSAUTODT. What does that stand for? Well, I’ll tell you. Daylight Savings Time is a completely false term. As I stated on Sunday, we aren’t saving anything. We didn’t save up over six months and have an extra hour to spend here. We stole it. We shifted it around unnecessarily and to our detriment. So I’m sitting at my own boardroom table and changing the name. Daylight Shifting Around Unnecessarily To Our Detriment Time. DSAUTODT. If you practice, you can develop a pronunciation for that. It’s sure to catch on once I reach the right people. The fact that it is slightly hard for the tongue and palate is a reflection of the pain the change inflicts. At any rate, the kids were crabby. Crabby like they’d taken a pill to transform them into an angry, hungry, mid-hibernation, bear with no conscience. Angry with enough energy to launch a space shuttle. Really I’m only talking about the middle children. They were a mess.
Today is a new day. With a new announcement. No, people. There is no fifth kid. Please go bother someone with only three. Better yet, really go bother someone with two. I’m off the market.
There has been much attention paid to Babe, the Snappshots doll. (By “much attention”, I mean that of the 10 people who stop by here regularly, 4 are quite bothered. Just wanted to clarify that the numbers here are not staggering ones.) I’ve heard everything from keep her, we love her to please no more pictures of abandoned sad little dolls. Fair enough. I will no longer photograph her abandoned. But in all fairness to me, I would like to point out that she is A DOLL. Not a real baby. She isn’t really even the representation of a real baby. She’s a real baby’s plaything.
But that’s an argument we can’t settle. What I’m noticing, though, is that many, many people have doll stories. A large portion of these stories are scary doll stories. A doll that haunted you as a child. A doll that started out cute and somehow three weeks later had all of its hair standing on end with the glassy-eyed gaze of a woman scorned. How DOES that happen? But there have also been stories of sweet dolls, funny dolls, sad dolls surfacing. Discovery Channel has Shark Week. Snappshots has EXTREME DOLL WEEK. Send me your stories, pictures, blurbs, poems, videos. Anything that depicts, verbally or photogenically, a doll, past or present, that is extreme in some way. Starting Monday, March 21, I will begin posting the more extreme things that come through. So if you’ve got something EDW worthy, send me an email at missy at snappshots dot com. I’ve already received two things that are definitely going up next week. This is a theme with promise.
I’ll leave you with an example of the creepy, since it is what you’ve come to expect of me. I borrowed this one from a friend’s garage (sorry, friend…please don’t be offended by this). She had a look in her eyes that is going to keep me up at night. So I set her in my hallway last night and promptly forgot I had done so. THREE TIMES this morning she scared the daylights (DSAUTODT) out of me. She also got an immediate remark from my 4-yr-old as she came down the stairs this morning, AND scared my 9-yr-old son. Twice. With dolls like this, who needs a pit bull?
The 9-yr-old actually screamed a little when he came around the corner to this…