Potato is now about a year and a half. Isn’t she pretty? She was the first joint pet that Andy and I got, and is without question the low maintenance oldest child. She and Riley don’t play much — er, ever — since we’re not sure if he would eat her and/or she would screech like a teapot the way she did that one time she crawled onto my shoulder after a shower and accidentally touched my wet hair. But she’s alive and well, and I still think she’s pretty awesome.

Disney World rocks. More on that later, probably.

For now I’ve resigned myself to not getting much writing done today, as I try to settle back into normal, non-”magical” life.

When we got home last night, Potato was all, “DUDE. I can’t believe the dog got to go to a swank hotel and play with his friends all day, and you just left me here with a handful of crickets and meal worms. You guys suck.” And we were all, “But we love you because you’re the easy one.” And she was all, “… Oh fine.”

Then this morning I picked Riley up from the Pet Spot, and he was all, “OMG YOU’RE BACK I THOUGHT YOU LEFT ME FOREVER BUT YOU DIDN’T AND NOW I’M GOING TO JUMP ALL OVER YOU AND LICK YOUR FACE AND HEY DO YOU WANT TO GO PLAY WITH PUPPIES IT’S LOTS OF FUN WHERE’S DAD ARE WE GOING HOME NOW CAN I HAVE FOOD I NEED TO PEE!”

Now he’s passed out on the bed (taking up ALL of it, of course) and I’m doing laundry, cleaning, reading the eight zillion things online that I missed, and wondering what the heck I’m going to make for lunch out of the Club crackers, apples, and soy sauce that we have in the kitchen.

Oh life.