The weekend, as seen through several empty children's Tylenol bottles.

After three weeks of house guest, week in Hawaii, house guest, house guest, house guest, with NO BREAK OF EVEN A DAY in between, we finally had the house to ourselves this weekend and it felt great. We could pee with the door open and let the yellow mellow. We could scan, ADHD-style, through the two week-old recorded finale of American Idol only to get to the end, where Ryan Scarycrest said "and the winner is..... David.....", to find that the recording ended RIGHT THERE forcing me to troll YouTube to find the reaction shot, which is TOTALLY the best part. We could clean out our embarrassingly stuffed linen closet which three weeks' worth of guests made us face, but didn't give us the time to deal with, on an almost daily basis. We could sit in silence or try to catch each other up on the stories from three weeks worth of delicious and sometimes challenging fullness that we never had the time or energy to share before now.

It was a great weekend. Oh, except for the fact that Zoe came down with a mysterious illness on Saturday that paired high fever with major fussiness. Just when we thought Zoe had gone through all the potential bugs from that barnyard petri dish we call daycare, it turns out there's one more: Hand, Foot and Mouth Disease. Today we found sores in her mouth and I guess we're on the lookout for a rash on her hands and hooves feet. FUN.

But I did sneak out last night to see the "Sex and the City" movie with some friends. I can't tell you what its value is as a MOVIE per se, but when viewed, in a room full of amped-up women, as a nostalgic, VERY extended episode of the TV show, IT ROCKED.