Thursday, March 31, 2011

Mr. Rogers Would Be So Pleased

It is an absolutely beautiful day in the neighborhood and I have taken full advantage of it; earlier, I walked to the local park and ran laps around the hiking trail, clocking in at just over three and a half miles in just under an hour.

Then, I threw on a light cardigan and some capri pants and rode Lulu to the store to pick up the daily cash to take to the bank. When I told Hugh that I was planning to ride Lulu through the drive-through lane, and to honk my ooga-ooga horn for service, he was two parts incredulous and three parts mortified but; I did it anyway.

For the record, the girls at the bank love Lulu. In fact, they were so gushingly complimentary; I suggested that they each purchase a similar bike and that we start a club. If we do, I'm thinking we might be able to get a volume discount on cup holders; it's worth investigating, anyway.

In other news, today is the first day of Spring Break for the children. Currently, we are hosting a number of their friends, making me even more grateful for the lovely weather simply because the children can play outside. But, not anywhere near my Lulu. I consider myself a kind person but I draw the line at sharing Lulu.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Ready For a Break

Last night I spent several hours at the high school, working with the kids from the service club that I am co-sponsoring. As one of their community service projects, the teenagers had spent the past few weeks organizing a literacy event for the students in our local elementary school. The event finally took place last night and we spent the evening doing skills-based crafts, reading stories, and playing cognitive games with kids ages 8-11. It was a pleasure to watch the teens interact with the younger kids and I was very proud of the event, considering all the hard work that the club put into it.

Today, I spent a couple of hours at a meeting of the fund-raising committee for our local Community Foundation, of which I am a member. We are planning a large event that will take place in June as well as several smaller events that will take place between now and October.

Tomorrow, I am meeting with several women from my woman’s service club to begin planning the Fun Night event that will take place during our annual District Conference, being held here in May. The last time we hosted the conference I was also in charge of the Fun Night event and it pleases me to think that I was tapped to plan it again based on the success of that event. For the record, the theme of the event in 2005 was a western gambling night, this year; I’m putting together our own version of Minute to Win It.

I enjoy working on these types of committees and I enjoy volunteering my time for organizations in whose missions I believe but; I’m really looking forward to taking a week off next week while the kids are on Spring Break.

I’m also looking forward to attending The Teenager’s last volleyball tournament this weekend, mainly because it is being held in the town of my Alma Mater and because I get to stay with my college roomie, Jules and her family. Nothing kicks off a fun spring Break like reliving past spring Breaks with an old friend.

Well, actually going on Spring Break with my old friends would be better but, a girl can’t have everything, at least, not until we all get together for our next Girl's Weekend, anyway. Speaking of which, that is an event I could really get behind planning and, lest you think that planning such an event would hardly constitute a community service, let me assure you; six-out-of-six husbands would seriously disagree because happy wives make for happy home communities.

Good thing I am all about community service.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Gretchen Rossi Has Got Nothing On Me

Except for a cup holder. Oh, and, a purse dog but who needs a purse dog when they have a Lulu? And yes, I named my bike. Why? I don’t know, I have an unusual habit of naming my possessions, just ask Gertie, the GPS unit in my car (Short for Gertrude Priscilla Simmons because, if you’re going to name an inanimate object, you might as well go all the way); it’s like a disease with no known cure nor twelve-step program although, wouldn’t it be wicked cool to stand up at a meeting and confess “Hi, my name is Chelle and I assign names to inanimate objects. I haven’t named anything new in three days, however; I also have a really bad habit of assigning an animated character to random people I meet based on their physical appearance. Oh, and I also like to point out which Muppet people most resemble. What? That meeting is down the hall? Well, alrighty, then…”

Say it with me; I digress.

So, back to Lulu, the coolest bike in the Free World. I found her at the Hellmouth and didn’t hesitate for a second before claiming her as my own and rushing her home where I introduced her to her new family.

She got a lukewarm reception from The Teenager, a round of excited applause from the Man-Cub and what can only be described as a bemused smirk from Hugh who, despite his initial reluctance to admit any degree of affection for her beauty, leapt at the opportunity to affix a basket and ooga-ooga horn to her handlebars.

Of course, the weather went to shit the minute I handed over the cash for her purchase and it wasn’t until today that I got a chance to ride her but; I’m pleased to report, that she handles like a dream.

Now, to work on that cup holder…

Monday, March 28, 2011

This Weather is Sucking My Will to Live

Snow? Check

Rain? Check

Sunshine? Check

Howling winds? Check

Calm breezes? Check

All having happened within the past five minutes? Check, check.

Welcome to Colorado.

This weekend was a replay of the weather above, making it nearly impossible to get out and enjoy nature but, I did it. I managed to take an hour-long walk in our local park each day despite running errands in Neighboring City, working on the clean-up crew following my woman’s club’s annual spring luncheon and catching up on the million-and-ten chores that I had to do around the house and; I really enjoyed the outside time. Summer cannot come soon enough for this girl, like seriously; I’m even looking forward to power-washing the porch and weeding the garden and doing battle with mutant squash bugs, again.

Well, maybe not the bug stuff but, the other chores sound like fun.

Speaking of doing fun chores and enjoying nature, Hugh managed to accomplish both this weekend by finally taking down our outdoor Christmas lights.

Yes, in March.

On one hand that seems so white-trash, to still have one’s holiday lights hanging around three months after the fact, but, on the other hand, I’m not going to be forced to entertain my friends by the glow of a million ice sicle lights during Porch Night so, no complaints here (I could complain about the fact that he is once again coming down to the wire for finishing our taxes but, I’m in a generous mood today and will therefore refrain from doing so. Ahem).

What else did I do this weekend? Hmm….oh, I taught the Man-Cub how to properly gel his hair so that his new hairstyle no longer resembles the fuzzy butt of a baby duck. Now it looks like a spiky baby hedgehog sitting on his head, instead. Don’t worry; I’m not going to tell him that; I totally learned my lesson about that last week.

In all honesty, the haircut is really handsome and the Cub pulls it off really well. I suppose I’m just having a hard time getting used to seeing such a mature style on mah baybee. Or, I was until last night when I glanced over at the Cub during The Amazing Race and the child was in absolute tears because he was so frustrated and sad for the deaf kid who was losing the challenge and “can’t we all just cut the kid some slack, I mean, he can’t hear!” and I realized that the maturity of his hairstyle is simply catching up with the maturity of his heart.

And, I can live with that.

Friday, March 25, 2011

A Lesson Learned

One needs to be very careful when choosing the words one uses to describe things if one wants to prevent hurting the feelings of one's child. For instance, when one says that her son's new haircut looks like a fuzzy ducky's fuzzy bottom, due to the fact that it is, well, fuzzy and puffing up like the downy fuzz of a ducky's bottom; one's son might misconstrue that to mean that his mother thinks his new haircut looks like ass.

And, feelings might get hurt.

I'm speaking hypothetically, of course. Or, not.

On the bright side, I bet if this duck used just a titch of product in his hair, his mother would tell him his new haircut looks just like the hair of an unruly twelve-year-old-boy. Of course, then the mama duck would be in the doghouse, too.

The moral of this story is: Never compliment your child's new haircut by comparing it to that of a precious baby animal because nothing good can come from it.

The end.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Guilty Pleasures

Last night I watched an episode of Real Housewives of Orange County. I don’t watch the Housewives franchise on a regular basis for a number of reasons, not the very least being the fact that there are far better things on television. Also, the women on those shows tend to grate on my nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard (especially the wives from New Jersey, holy Hannah, nutcakes!).

That said; I do harbor just the teensiest bit of adoration for Gretchen Rossi. Actually, that’s not true, she’s kind of a mess and I’m pretty sure that she would be really irritating to meet in person but, I do totally covet her bicycle. Seriously, it’s retro-chic, has a basket for her dog to ride in and a cup holder for her wine. A cup holder for her wine.

Now, I could get behind exercise on a bike like that. Or, you know, I could tool around the neighborhood with a glass of Pinot and a basket of chocolate chip cookies in place of the dog because, let’s face it; one hundred and five pounds of yellow Labrador would look ridiculous in a tiny bike basket and, despite my pleas, Hugh is reluctant to let me get a Yorkie, mostly because he knows that I will name the dog Spike and dress him in twee little leather biker vests and studded collars, as one does and, as usual, I digress, so…to recap: Gretchen’s bike is bitchen cool. The housewives are annoying, grating, narcissistic silicone sacks and, a dog named Spike would be totally awesome.


What're YOU lookin' at?

Monday, March 21, 2011

You Have to be Really Talented to Pull a Muscle in Your Sleep

Which means I am super talented because I pulled two and, while I couldn’t tell you what kind of ninja kung-fu moves I was doing at the time, I can tell you that the resulting pulls hurt like a sumbitch and that this all occurred at precisely 2:53 a.m. because, that is when I woke up wailing from the pain.

It should be noted that Hugh slept through the whole thing, much like he slept through each and every midnight feeding, diaper change, stealth mission by the Tooth Fairy, and Barf-Fests circa 2000-2007. He’s a deep sleeper, that one.

Today, I am favoring the inner thigh of my left leg and the muscle that runs up the left side of my back from the butt cheek to the shoulder blade at least, I think it’s all one muscle, I’m not sure; anatomy class was many moons ago and I’m pretty sure I got a C.

Speaking of getting a C; report cards came out last week and, horror of horrors, the Man-Cub got a C+ in Language Arts. I would be devastated were it not for the fact that he got all A’s and B’s in his other subjects which constitutes a report card better than anything I brought home back in the day so, yeah; we’ll work on bringing his grade up and not make a Federal case out of it.

The Teenager’s grades were all A’s and B’s, earning her a spot on the Honor Roll again this Quarter. This means that she is only one Quarter away from winning a bet with her father, a bet that will end with her getting her belly button pierced sometime this summer.

You read correctly; my fifteen year old daughter will be getting her belly button pierced as a reward for getting good grades.

If my husband bets her a tattoo next I might have to kill him in his sleep and, we all know that I am capable of stealth ninja moves in my sleep so, if I were him, I would be afraid. I’d be very afraid.

On a less threatening note; there is a new girl at the Man-Cub’s school and he has developed a little crush. Unfortunately, being the Man-Cub, he can’t remember the girl’s name, making wooing of said girl a bit trickier than it might be were he to, say...have some idea of what to call her during a conversation.

Luckily, he did remember that the girl had transferred from the Middle School that Darren attends and, while I was driving the two of them to the gymnastics studio Friday night for Open Gym, I overheard them have the following conversation about the girl:

Darren: Well, what does she look like?

Man-Cub: She’s about my height, blond, blue eyes and she says you used to like her.

Darren: I have no idea.

Man-Cub: Well, what girl, whom you used to like, has left your school this week?

Darren: I have no idea.

Man-Cub: Ok, well, next week, look around; when you see a group of sad girls, go and ask them if they are sad because their friend moved and, when they say yes, ask them what her name was.

Darren: Sad girls?

Man-Cub: Yeah, that’s how it works at our school, a girl moves away and her friends mope around and cry about missing her and stuff. But, you have to hurry; they don’t seem to stay sad for very long.

Darren: Oh.

My suggestion that it might be easier if the Cub just asked the girl her name was met with a shriek of horror because that? Would be embarrassing. You know, because having to stalk the sad girls in your school in order to find out a girl’s name for your friend at another school isn’t embarrassing at all. Poor Darren, I don’t know why he puts up with the Cub.

So, let’s see, what else do I have to talk about?

The Man-Cub took second place at this weekend’s wrestling tournament despite having his thumb injured by his first opponent. He’s done wrestling now which is not a moment too soon considering that we had our Youth Baseball League draft on Sunday. Luckily, the Cub's injured thumb didn’t prevent him from making the 70’ Majors Team which is the team he was hoping to make and, not coincidentally, will now be the team that Hugh Co-coaches.

While Hugh and the Cub were at the draft, I was pulling the dead leaves and stalks from my flower beds, revealing tulip, daffodil and narcissus shoots already pushing up from the earth. I also managed to clean the house, to do fifteen loads of laundry and to pick up groceries while waiting for The Teenager to finish volleyball practice. I think I would have had more fun at the draft. Or, you know, on a beach.

As it is, I am now starting to wonder if I pulled my muscles prior to going to bed last night and just didn’t know it until I moved in some way that further exacerbated the problem. Nah, it’s more entertaining to think that I managed it all in my sleep, while practicing ballet which, I’m really good at when I’m asleep despite having no dance ability whatsoever when awake.


Friday, March 18, 2011

Friday Flashback: Clover Isn't Just for Leprechauns

When I was a kid, I can remember spending hours rolling around in a small patch of clover that grew stubbornly in the middle of my father’s lawn; I believe my father referred to it as “the bane of his existence” since it was virtually impossible to kill and, in his opinion, ruined the look of his lawn.

I disagreed with that sentiment; my younger sister and I searched for the elusive four-leafed clover in that patch for hours at a time, and, while I can’t recall ever finding even one, the search itself was always exciting. In addition to rooting through the patch for that lucky talisman, we also strung the numerous three-leafed variety of clover onto thread. The clover leaves along with the white and purple lilac blooms from the bushes in the yard made gorgeous necklaces and wreaths for our hair, wreaths that we would wear during our imaginary wedding ceremonies to such likely candidates as Donny Osmond and Sean Cassidy.

Eventually, of course, we grew up and, lazing about in a clover patch became less and less important to us. My own love affair with the clover patch officially ended the day that I stepped on a bumble bee while running through the clover; the resulting sting left an indelible impression on my thirteen-year-old self and the clover became my enemy, much like it had been for my father for many, many years.

If you were to venture into my parent’s back yard these days, you would see that the clover still reigns supreme over the land. My kids have been known to roll about in it, searching for four-leafed clover and running from the bees that still feed on the sweet nectar of the clover blossoms and, in that way, our generations are united.

Of course, the day I catch the Man-Cub wearing a flower wreath on his head while participating in an imaginary wedding ceremony under the lilac bushes, I might join my Dad in going hari-kari on that clover patch.

I think Sevin Dust would do the trick.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

In Case You Ever Wondered

It is possible to poach eggs in the microwave. It is also possible that eggs poaching in the microwave will explode in a most impressive manner if not supervised adequately. It is further possible that the cleanup effort involved in dealing with the mess left behind will rival that of your worst nightmare and that the frustration caused by the entire ordeal will completely kill your craving for Eggs Benedict, forcing you to eat yet another bowl of soggy cereal for breakfast thus ruining your entire day.

And, now you know.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Yo, Adriennnnnne!

So, apparently, Rocky Balboa was at this weekend’s volleyball tournament and I never got to see him. And, while I understand that the odds of running into Rambo while in a ginormous building housing ten thousand spectators weren't exactly in my favor; I clearly need to work on my celebrity radar. Then, I can be like my sister who actually got to within spitting distance of Marky Mark while in New York last year. Not that she actually spit at Marky Mark, obviously, I mean; our mama raised us right. But, still! She could have, she was thisclose.

On the topic of celebrity run-ins; Hugh was at a gas station a few years ago and he pumped gas right next to Tom Cruise. When I asked him what that was like, he shrugged his shoulders all “ain’t no big thang." Then he patted himself on the back for not mentioning-out loud- the fact that Mr. Cruise is somewhat height-challenged. Oh, he thought it but, he didn’t say it. His mama raised him right, too.

Once upon a time ago, my parents rode in a Las Vegas elevator with Kiss and, another time, while in Vegas; ran into Raquel Welch while the closest I have come to a celebrity was sharing a hotel lobby with Hulk Hogan and, let's be honest; he’s not even D List.

So, while my daughter didn't even know who the hell Sylvester Stallone is; running into him would have been the pinnacle of my celebrity shoulder-rubbing experience and I missed it.

Granted, I would much rather ride in an elevator with Marky Mark but, at this point, I am totally willing to settle. 

Throw me a bone, celebrity universe (preferably one attached to Hugh Jackman, K?! Thanks!Bye!)!

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

This is Your Weekend Update with Tired McTiredpants

What do you get when you combine a five hour drive, three nights in a hotel, good food, a group of girls and a shopping mall? Nope, not a Girls Weekend, although that would have been lovely, in this case, however, you get a three-day volleyball tournament which, truth be told, was fairly lovely, itself.

Our trip began Friday afternoon when the kids got out of school. The weather was nice so we made the drive to Denver in a leisurely fashion, arriving at the hotel a little before 11:00 p.m. The hotel, it should be noted, was a far cry from the ghetto mess that we stayed at in Albuquerque, in fact, it was a really nice hotel, located within walking distance of the Park Meadows Mall which is where we spent a good chunk of time on Sunday afternoon, in between games.

Anyway, after a good night’s sleep, we rose early on Saturday morning in order to be at the Colorado Convention Center by 7:15. The girls’ first game started at 8:00 and we wanted enough time to acquaint ourselves with the layout of the center. And, what did that layout entail? 79 regulation volleyball courts under one roof plus a number of vendor booths squeezed into the mix.

It was wild and by far the largest venue that the girls have ever played in which may have had something to do with the quality of their first few games, which is to say; they struggled. But, what they lacked in technique they more than made up for in spirit...

... and they went on to win a few games before the tournament’s end on Monday afternoon.

When we weren’t cheering on the team, we spent time with my parents, who were in Denver for a previously scheduled appointment with Dad’s heart doctor and with my sister, who lives in the area. Oscar and Emily also made the trip to watch The Teenager so we had quite the supportive group cheering on the team.

And, lest you think the trip was all about the kids, let me assure you, I made a good dent in Hugh’s wallet while shopping on the 16th Street Mall in between games. We also took the entire team to Dave & Buster’s where the kids played in the arcade while the adults spent some quality time in the dining room and, later, Hugh, the kids and I went to see I Am Number Four as well as taking a moment on Monday morning to grab breakfast at my favorite place in Denver, The Corner Bakery (ham & swiss panini, why can't I quit you? Oh, taht's right, because you are freaking delicious!).

We got home last night a little before 10:00 and the kids are back in school today. I need to go to work but, a nap really sounds like a nice idea.

To recap: It was a busy and productive weekend and now I need a weekend to recover from it.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Baby, You Can Drive My Car

Since getting her Driver’s Learning Permit on Tuesday, The Teenager has been behind the wheel at every available opportunity which is a good thing since she is required to log a certain number of hours prior to receiving her actual driver’s license. This is proving to be a learning experience for all of us; the first lesson being that grasping the passenger seat door handle and stomping on the imaginary passenger-side brake serve no purpose save for irritating The Teenager. You can file that little nugget away for future reference if you like.

Otherwise, she is doing really well. Wednesday afternoon, she drove to her Grandparents house and the 10 minute drive only took half an hour. That was totally fine because it’s obviously more important to me that she feel comfortable while driving than it is that we get somewhere in a reasonable amount of time. Unless, of course, I should ever require her to drive me to the Emergency Room after accidentally opening a vein in a freak kitchen accident or something equally life threatening; in that case I might like her to hurry the fuck up.

Last night, Hugh let her drive to volleyball practice and she has driven to school the past two mornings. Her skills are coming along nicely and, if we can break her of the habit of stomping on the brakes at intersections, we will be golden. As an aside, seat belts really do snap you back in your seat in the event that the brakes are applied aggressively which is comforting to know and, painful to experience.

Anyway, our next challenge will be to teach her how to drive in traffic. I suggested that we apply the Sink-or-Swim method and simply throw her onto the interstate while in Denver this weekend. Not surprisingly, that suggestion was met with a certain degree of resistance. Maybe next time.

Wednesday, March 09, 2011

I’m Really Making an Effort to be the Best Worst Catholic Possible

You’ve heard the term Easter/Christmas Catholic, I’m sure. These would be the Catholics who only attend mass on the two most important holidays on the Christian calendar and who go quietly MIA the rest of the year. The good news is; I’m not one of these people. The bad news is; I’m WORSE. Not only did I not go to mass last Christmas, but; I’m not really planning on going this Easter, either.

I feel bad about this, in many ways but; obviously not bad enough to actually get my lazy ass out of the house on Sunday mornings in order to attend church which makes me a terrible Catholic, I know. Indeed, the fact that I feel guilty about missing mass is possibly my one saving grace as a Catholic.

Except, that’s not entirely accurate; I also make a point to observe Lent each year so technically, I have two saving graces. Go me. I'm sure Saint Peter will just throw those golden gates open upon my arrival.

Anyway, as the Catholic among us know; today is the first day of Lent which means that I will begin six weeks of self-flagellation which, for me, comes in the form of giving up chocolate. Lest you scoff at my “sacrifice”, let me assure you; giving up chocolate is a hardship for me. Indeed, by Good Friday, I will be dreaming of eating the heads off chocolate bunnies in my sleep. This is not an easy thing for me to do by any means which, I guess, is the point.

Like, duh.

As you know, I also considered giving up Diet Pepsi this year but, following an interesting conversation with my son; decided against it. Instead, I have decided to do something a little different; instead of giving up something else, I’m going to make an effort to give back to my community and to my fellow man by practicing a random act of kindness each day. Now, I try to be kind as a rule but, in this instance, I want to really make an effort to do at least one thing that stands out and, I started this morning by allowing The Teenager to drive to school.

Don’t freak, she actually got her Learner’s permit yesterday so it was perfectly legal if a bit unnerving. In fact, the stress of it caused me to crave a nice chocolate bar which, for obvious reasons, I could not eat which made me terribly sad.

On Day ONE.

This may possibly be the longest Lenten season, ever.

Monday, March 07, 2011

Personal Sacrifice Should Not Be Allowed to Affect One's Family

Thus sayeth the Man-Cub yesterday when I announced my intention to give up Diet Pepsi for Lent this year, except; he phrased it more along the lines of "Whhaaat?! Noooo! You can't do that! Please, for the love of god, don't do that!".

Because I was apparently not nearly as angelic and well-mannered as I thought I was the last time I gave up soda for Lent. Huh. Funny how two people can have such entirely different views of the same event.

Also, how sad that my Lenten sacrifice appears to have scarred my son for life; I guess I'll just have to stick to giving up chocolate.

Eh, it could be worse.

Friday, March 04, 2011

It’s a Matter of Perspective

While Hugh is on a business trip to Tennessee, I am single-parenting the children and, I must say; single parenting adolescents is so much easier than single-parenting infants, toddlers or pre-schoolers and, I think the word you are reaching for now is duh.

Yes, the responsibilities involved in the daily care and maintenance of older children pales in comparison to those involved in the care of the babies, like obviously but; I still find it worth mentioning.

Indeed, I am enjoying the time that I am spending alone with the children. For one thing, they don’t expect a four-course dinner on the table as soon as they walk through the door (in his defense, neither does Hugh but, the wifely guilt, it is strong in this one), instead; they are quite content to eat breakfast for dinner and The Teenager has no problem cooking up a pan of eggs, a few slices of bacon and a stack of truly awesome pancakes.

This frees me up to attend to the other necessary tasks involved in running a successful household, things like keeping a space warm on the couch and updating the children on the latest comical gem on

You know, the important things.

And, I have been working on the kids’ scrapbooks, books on which I am sorely behind (Mom: Teenager, who was your fifth grade teacher again? Teenager: Oh. My. Gawwwwd), making arrangements for The Teenager’s upcoming volleyball tournament in Denver and keeping up-to-the-minute on the antics of that crazy Charlie Sheen. I’m a busy woman, is what I’m saying and; it’s sure nice to have kids who no longer require me to wash their backsides.

Please feel free to remind me of this the next time I spiral downward into a pit of despair regarding how quickly they are growing up.

Really, do.

Wednesday, March 02, 2011

This Doesn’t Hurt My Feelings at ALL

The Man-Cub has declared his independence from me by requesting that I no longer refer to him as the Man-Cub during sporting events, in front of his friends, when texting him or when writing about him on Facebook.

He has determined that he is, and I quote, “Too old” to be referred to in such a manner. In addition, he finds the nickname “embarrassing” and “emasculating” and, while he doesn’t actually know what that word means, it is clearly a bad thing to be and, far be it from me to either embarrass or emasculate my child (any more than usual).

So, I have agreed not to call the Cub out on the wrestling mat, baseball field or basketball court. I will refrain from referring to him as Man-Cub in front of his friends and will only use the nickname in the privacy of our own home and, obviously, on this blog. I did, however, refuse to change the ringtone that alerts me to the Cub’s calls so; the sweet sound of King Louie and Baloo singing about their desire to be a mancub continues to peal melodiously from my cell phone each time the Cub calls.

The Cub accepted that small compromise because I gave him no other choice. And, because I pulled the “Unmedicated childbirth” card, the “Six months of constant spit-up due to his serious regurgitative issues” card and the “Solid year without a full night’s sleep due to his refusal to sleep through the night” card. Clearly the kid owed me one.

At the very least.

On a totally unrelated topic, I took the Cub in for a booster shot of the HPV vaccine, today. It was the final shot in a three-shot series and I had been meaning to schedule the appointment for the past several months. Have I mentioned that the Cub hates shots?

Yep, unrelated. Totally unrelated.

Tuesday, March 01, 2011

Is It Summer Yet?

Yesterday was a perfectly lovely day. The temperature was in the low 50's, the sun was shining, birds were singing...that reminds me, I should probably refill the bird feeders before the little bastards my fine-feathered friends peck my eyeballs out in a starvation frenzy abandon my feeders for someone eles's...and a nice breeze was blowing; spring was definitely in the air and I came thisclose to grabbing my garden trowel and cleaning out my flowerbeds.

Unfortunately, the weather is supposed to take a turn for the worse before the weekend so, it is best that  I am too lazy to garden refrained from exposing the delicate tulip, crocus and daffodil shoots to the elements too early.

In addition to having gardening fever, I am also jonesing to be on the water, to show off my latest OPIcure (The One That Got Away, from the new Katy Perry collection) while wearing cute flip-flops, to redecorate the front porch for a new season of Porch Nights, to watch the Cub play baseball, to listen to the crickets at night while sipping a glass of really good wine, to lay in the sun in a new bikini lovely, age-appropriate one-piece bathing suit and to wake up to the sounds of cooing, courtesy of our resident Mourning Doves who always get louder with the coming of the summer.

Which reminds me that I need to buy birdseed.

And, an age-appropriate one-piece bathing suit.

Summer, where are youuuuu??