The Pumpkin is Home

Or, would I not be a pumpkin yet, since I made it in before midnight?

I haven't been out of my apartment after dark, other than a jaunt downstairs to the car, in months. Seriously. Months. The kid goes to sleep by 6pm, which means dinner is at 5, which means I'm usually home by then. So, it's completely normal that I spent most of my evening out tonight on the brink of an anxiety attack . . . right? Right?

Today, I cashed in on a Christmas present and went to see Wicked. My stepmother, her two daughters, her three sisters, and one niece all went as well. The play was absolutely awesome and I'm telling you right now that you should go. Run and buy tickets, it's that good. The company, however, was rather eye opening. It was like a day-long game of "one of these things is not like the other." I wasn't expecting to hear tales of who shot who, or which friend is in jail for drugs, or how many kids so and so has, or how many DUIs everyone has. It was a perfect example of how sheltered us country bumpkins can be.

Anyways, my ears are still ringing from sitting at a tiny dinner table with 7 other talkative women, and I have this incredible urge to go wake the kid up to give her a big hug. Seeing how I'm not quite that crazy, I'm just going to settle for worrying that she didn't drink enough all day and pick up the toysplosion that happens when grandpa lets someone get into everything.