I decided to do NaBloPoMo and was totally confused why people were posting that this was the second day. I mean it's the first day I've heard about it and it's the beginning of November so what are those people talking about? Then I realized it's Nov 2 today. Doh! I'm doing it anyway. 

I had a very witty and thoughtful post planned in my head about my dependence on Mt. Dew that I was going to write up tonight. Then Family Home Evening happened. FHE at the Clayson household is always a special affair. When I was younger I don't remember us having FHE at all (having a faulty memory does help this). Since Dad's a nurse he schedule was always weird so he would often work Mondays. Shifts were from 7:30 am to 7:30 pm plus time added before and after for reporting and then if needed time to chart after. The earliest Dad ever got home was 8 and he was normally home closer to 8:30. 8 is bed time. It's weird how different things are with Dad working on the base. We have dinner much earlier for one. Back to topic. We're having FHE and we've gotten to the game. Callie made up the game and since she's 8 it was very... fun. She drew pictures of ghosts (that looked mostly like globby people) and we had to guess who they were. When it was the Emery ghost up Dad decided we needed to dog pile on who ever the picture was. Dad is a fan of dog piling. Normally I am. It's fun. Keeps life interesting. I, however, did not have a great day (the need for Mt Dew by 9 in the morning normally means that) so I did not participate. Family is also a big fan of giving hugs when I don't want to be touched. Apparently, I don't like any of them or something. I was not participating and kind of dreading when it was going to be my turn. Will had already made comments to the effect of "just wait until I jump upon you" and I informed him if he did I was going to lengthen piano lessons, which are torture in and of itself for him. The ghost picture was me. Emery tried to pull me off the couch and on to the floor so they could dog pile me. I tried my hardest to threaten him and sit down. Dad was conveniently behind the couch and decided to give me a wedgie. First off, it was the most painful wedgie I have ever experienced. It hurt. When I started whining about how it hurt they all stopped harassing me. A couple minutes later I learned that Dad ripped my underwear in the process of giving me this wedgie. Now I have a huge hole in my underwear (about the size of the waistband). I'm crabby. 

Where's my Mountain Dew?