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Everybody, Meet My Mom!

Dear Mom,

Due to our magical powers and the mysterious technology of The Internet, we have become aware that you have discovered our quaint cyber home. It would have been much more entertaining for you if you'd seen this post or this one first (go on, click the links, you're really going to appreciate them). But more than just ridiculing someone who drives us mutually insane, we've spent most of our time here talking about the various kids in our lives.

Now that you have tasted from the smorgasbord of the Fringe Feast (did you click all the links?), we hope you'll agree that most entrees are light and sweet, not heavy or bitter. Umm, also? Please do not disown us for referencing you publicly on the internet without your expressed permission. Our only lifeline to sanity remains your excellent babysitting services which allow us to live a life of luxury and go to real life sit-down restaurants to eat in peace Every. Single. Weekend. (Go on, everyone. BOW TO HER!) Just think of the children. Why, just last night as little Quinn was flipping through a photo album, he softly intoned, "Meena" and looked up at me, nostalgic and longing for the days when he couldn't properly pronounce the name Bryce had christened his favorite grandmother with in his two-year-old attempt to say "grandma" during Quinn's infancy (drumroll as we introduce the sacred, up until now secret, grandmotherly title invented on Fringe property): Megama. I looked back at Quinn and smiled: "yes, you used to call megama 'meena', didn't you?" He grinned sheepishly and said, "I want to go to Megama's house." You know you can't resist that, Mom.

She's hip. She's cool. She's Mega. And she's reading this very blog. Welcome to the Fringe, Mom!

Anyone for cocktails?