At some point in after World War II someone decided that the world would be much better if women put on Christian Dior flare dresses, pearls, vacuumed the house, and made dinner just before 5:30 when the Man of the House would come walking in the door from his enigmatic job (briefcase in hand). They called this the "nuclear family", apparently because this was an atomic aboration, a radioactive mutation of what the world was hoping to offer. Was this in reaction to the flappers of the 20s or the Rosie's of the 40s? Maybe... but regardless, the "nuclear family" was quietly ushered into rerun land on Nick@Night while the rest of us realized that one routine was not necessarily the best way for everyone.
So here I sit, me and the kids (my two cats). The epitomy of the non-nuclear family. Included is Maya, my 2 year old turtleshell calico who is so far none-to-thrilled with Pinter, the baby who joined us last week and has thus far brought love and kitty claws into our lives.
Hopefully, if all works according to plan, you'll see photos of each in THIS edition just above. Take a peak. Enjoy. Until tomorrow, same bat time, same bat channel.
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