Oh Laura Ingalls Wilder, what have you done to my family?

It started off so simply, listening to an old favorite, Little House on the Prairie, while driving to Vermont. I thought much of it when right over the head of my darling girl. I should have known better.

They loved the story. Indians and wolves...all the good stuff. I mentioned that they had, back in the day, made a TV show based on the book and would you kids be interested in seeing it. They were excited. I moved it to the top of the queue.

I am now Ma. I do not have the infinite patience or hard working ethic of Ma, but I am Ma nonetheless. My girlie switches between Baby Carrie and Laura depending on her mood. At this point I'd like to take a moment to thank Mr. Edwards for teaching Laura how to spit - it's a glorious habit for my four year old girl.

She tells everyone she meets about Pa falling out of a tree and breaking his ribs. I'm waiting for someone to ask me how my husband is doing after his accident.

We've been watching an episode every night before bed. My son gets mad (although he'd rather die than admit it) if we think about watching one without him. He gets even madder when my girl tries calling him Jack. That would be the Ingall's dog.

As the husband left for work tonight she hollered out 'G'nite Pa' and made me lift her up so he could pretend his ribs were broken. We indulged her. Am powerless to resist the dimples I tell ya.