I had every intention of penning a somewhat emotional web log entry about home tonight, but then Chris and Kelly asked me to babysit so that they could enjoy a quiet dinner out, which means that instead of writing in the guest bedroom with the door closed and my headphones on I spent the bulk of this evening doing other things, like silly-dancing in the dining room to my current favorite pop song and doling out a hundred or more high fives and racing across the living room carpet on my knees and saying "Please don't hit the doggy." and "Get that out of your mouth!" and "Go give grandma a kiss." and "I think he pooped." over and over again and smiling like an idiot and laughing myself sore and doing my darnedest to get all of the soggy Ritz Cracker chunks off of my nephew Harrison's blue dinosaur pajamas.