I Am The Best Aunt (And Other Stuff, Too)

I have poor restraint.

For those of you who don't know, and I'm just too lazy to go back and see if I've mentioned it on here before, my aunt and uncle are adopting a little girl from India, named Kenlie. My aunt likes froo-froo things and pink and ruffles and sparklies and all of that girlie stuff, so my mom and I went to the store to get said sparkly, ruffly, pink, froo-froo baby things for Kenlie. While I was looking for the perfect gift for my new cousin, I came across something. I was trying to be good. I had been doing so well. I promised I wouldn't spend money on baby things for my niece/nephew until I knew if it was a niece or a nephew. Or at least for a month. But alas, I could not restrain anymore. And now, my NinjaNiece/Nephew has the following because of his/her favorite aunt's lack of restraint:

Which I happen to think is amazing.It ended up leading into a strongly worded discussion between Cerri and I as to who would be the better aunt. I pwned. For those of you not versed in contemporary language, I won. Multiple times.

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This weekend was extremely full. Friday night was Pinchlet's going away party, where my OCD was unleashed upon the snack table.

This table was organized, reorganized, and organized again many, many times until it met my high standards of almost-symmetry. And then the picture was thrown off by the stupid chair on one side. Boo!

And then the mandatory party pictures were taken of everyone and their brother with the recipient of the party and the cake. Including myself. And I am not a creeper.

Ok, maybe a little.

And then group hugs were exchanged and we let her go.  But not without a fight, as Dorenda and I chased after her car.

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But alas, we had to move on after Pinchlet left. So we did the annual hayride and hog roast thing. 

I don't really get why we even call it a hog roast anymore. The origins of this annual tradition go way, way back. The first place I remember having it (although I have heard that this isn't actually the first place) at The Spanish Leprechaun's parents' house. And then we migrated to another family's house. And now we have had it at the church for the past two years. But we don't roast hogs anymore. Which takes a great deal of the fun out of it, as well as the relevance of the name. This fails, or rather, phails. (Don't ask.)

We still do the hayride thing though.

The scary person in the front is Cerri. She is not posessed. Although sometimes I have my doubts.

And we have since added a bouncy thing!

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After we gorged ourselves on non-hog, we did the only logical thing.

We went and ate Mexican.

There was also a belated birthday sombrero involved.