Today was the girls' Thanksgiving feast at preschool. They volunteered me to make spaghetti because it's 90% of the kids' favorite food. I brought them to school, then zipped home to make said spaghetti, and zipped right back to preschool, leaving my tomato sauce encrusted pots all over the kitchen, grimacing as I left the mess. The feast was cute. All the kids had made little Native American costumes and wore headbands with Native American names they had picked for themselves. Olivia was "Girl Who Likes Horses" and Grace was "Artist Girl". I was suprised neither girl was "Cries To Get What She Wants" or "Girl With A Shoe Fetish", but whatever. They both said they were most thankful for their mommy and daddy, and since most kids said things like, "my purple princess shoes" or "my Ultimate Fighter action figure" I was touched. We got home and I surveyed the damage to the kitchen, turning on the tap to the hot water. "Huh? Wha?" No water. I called the water company and "Oh, haha, we're cleaning the septic tank tomorrow and I guess we let it get a little too low. You should have water back by tomorrow night." I don't think I need to finish this story either, but you can bet it sure didn't sound like Christmas around here when I got off the phone.