Attack

I came upstairs this morning and saw that Descartes has moved "Christmas" outside onto the front deck.

An eerie glowing being with beady eyes, he frightens me a little, and I had to immediately remind myself that while I might think that an 8-foot tall snowman on my front deck is horrific, my daughter, who is at least as enamored with this holiday season as a Home Shopping Network little Christmas village collector, has a reaction to that same creepy glowing-innards beast that is more like this:

"Lookmommyaren'tweluckyhe'sbeautifulandhimssparklyinsidehiswholebodythankyoudaddy
IlovemyChristmassomuchlookJakedon'tyoujustloveChristmaslook
JakeMommaJakelikesChristmastoo.ThisisaMAZING!MERRYCHRISTMASMERRYCHRISTMAS."

And no there are no breaks for breath, because as Descartes tells me all the time, she is just like I am and we are fast talkers and there is no time for breathing.

We can breathe while we sleep.