Hey You…Happy Easter!

Bunny Face

Originally uploaded by sellke

Time for the talk?

We were sitting on the couch this afternoon reading a story.  CT sat to my left, PJ to my right and KP on my lap.  As the story progressed so did the number of times KP put his hands down his pants.

I simply asked him, “Hey, what’s going on there?”  His response, “I just can’t get it to stay down.”  CT pipes in, “Oh little buddy I know…sometimes those bones get real stiff.”

Boys, sticks and warm sun

Let the sun shineth in and warmeth the earth! Just a little glimpse of our sweet spring to come.

Not slutty by nature

I am not one who likes to go to dress up parties. As a matter of fact, I don’t even like Halloween all that much.

That said, we just went to our friend Lars’ 40th birthday party. He’s British, so the theme was Come As Your Favorite Brit. After my long deep breath and several searches on line for famous British people, there were several I thought I might be able to pull off:  The Queen, Margaret Thatcher, one of The Beatles or maybe even Mick Jagger (I do have the mouth). Adam suggested crash car Diana, which I LOVED, but it felt a little too wrong to pull off but still a stellar idea.

I have only had two successful encounters with dressing up as someone else. The first is when I went as Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction. I wish I had a picture because it was fierce! I had the hair, the white shirt, the pants and the srynge sticking out of my chest. Now that was fun.

Last weekend I chose someone I hadn’t even heard of. Funny enough my 73 year old dad asked me who I was going as and when I said, “Some woman named Amy Winehouse.” His response was, “Oh that singing drug addict slut?”

And some how with George Micheal at my side, it got pulled off and was actually fun. Just don’t make me do it for another 7 years.

What NO three-year-old should know

While we were in the car today KP said to me, “Mom, Indiana Jones and Luke Skywalker’s friend, the one with the vest…they have the same voice.”

I will thank my wonderful husband for imparting such wisdom to my small, precious, malleable, and purest of snow youngest son.

Kick off to crazyville

Today is the first day of Triathlon training.

What is so funny about this is that two weeks ago I had decided to take myself out of doing the 1/2 iron man altogether, it just felt like too much.  The whole “thing” felt like so much that I wasn’t excited AT ALL, to do any of it.  And let me tell you friends, that is way too much training to not want to do it.

What is even more funny, is that I do this ever year BUT forget that I do it.   What I mean by “this” is that I am never excited to start this training and then I feel like I don’t want to do it because there must be something wrong with me that I am not excited because who would’nt be excited about working out 15 hours a week?  and being tired all the time?  and having your butt go numb on your bike seat?  and having your legs cramp?  and your eyes having perpetual red swollen rings around them due to your goggles?

But thank goodness for Jen. For the past three years she has gotten to hear me bitch and moan at this very same point every year.  And every year she has said to me, “Yeah, you said the same thing last year, don’t you remember?”

This just proves that I’m not getting lazy and loosing my edge.  It just means I’m loosing my MIND!

Hair Genetics

All three of my kids have different types of hair.

CT has a TON of hair that is thick, wavy and beads off water like a Labrador. PJ on the other hand, still has a lot of hair, but it is very soft and straight. Now KP, he lost the genetic hair gamble. He has hair that doesn’t look like it ever really came in all the way, is very thin and almost dry looking, sticks out all over the place and is pin straight.

Every time I bring him into get his haircut I shutter to think of how he will look walking out because he usually ends up looking like he has a floating hair piece on. By now you now I don’t feel too strongly about my children looking coiffed, perfect or like they have just walked off the pages of a magazine. I’m just lucky if I get their hair combed and their teeth brushed.

His hair has been so crazy as of late that I just stopped combing it all together, it gave him a funny little attitude and actually goes with his personality. Ok, I’m not even sure what the hell that means, but it makes sense none the less (that’s why I added the photos).

Today we had nothing better to do in the still freezing Minnesota winter so we took a long needed trip to the barber. He sits in the chair and the hairstylist says to me, “Mom, what are we going to do today?” I laugh and tell her I have no idea. Then I explain how I don’t want him to look like he has a toupee or like his hair is just floating on top of his head and attached with tape which is what they normally do to him.

She gives him a look over, pulls his hair up, messes it up and pushes it around, then tells me he needs to grow it. She continues to asses his head and his cowlicks that are ALL over. I made some joke about him not winning the family hair lottery and she laughs and says it is pretty hard when your hair line starts HALF WAY UP YOUR HEAD.

So she cleaned it up and left me with the instruction of not growing it into a mullet and not growing it too long where he looks like a girl. With that sage advice we were off and when Adam came home he said, “Did KP get his haircut today? He looks like Moe.”

I guess we’ll keep trying!

Jack, is that you?

I leave town and just look what happens.

Making Lunch

Yesterday at the breakfast table I posed this question to the kids: “How old do you think you should be to make your own lunch?”

Hands went flying into the air with reckless abandon.

Me: Ok CT, what do you think?

CT: I think you should be seven.

Me: PJ, what do you think?

PJ: I think you should be five.

Me: I think you’re both right. Do you both want to start making your own lunches from here on out?

PJ: Yes, yes, can I start today?

CT: Me too, I want to start today.

Me thinking…what the hell just happened here?  That was way too easy!

The Death Party

A few of my girlfriend’s and I are taking our annual Girl’s Get-A-Way this weekend. I so look forward to this weekend all year long. We drive up to my friend’s cabin that is about 3 hours away and just read, talk, drink wine, play cards and try not to get lightheaded and faint from standing up to fast after sitting on the couch for too long.

One of the best parts of leaving town is seeing what Jen has planned to do with her kids the day before she leaves. You see, every time she leaves town, she makes sure everything in her life is in order and then spends one last wonderful day with her children so they would at least have one last fond memory of her if she suddenly got scrubbed off the face of the planet.

On our trip to Boston together we came up with a term for this “excersise” that she puts herself through before every trip. We fondly call it The Death Party.

She told me over coffee today that she was taking her kids skiing tomorrow. I asked her if that was all she was doing for The Death Party this trip and she said, “We’ll yeah and I don’t get as worried driving someplace as I do flying.”

And as her best friend, I did have to make it clear to her that it is MUCH MORE LIKELY that we get killed in a car accident than it would be going down in a fiery plane crash. That’s what good friends are for, right?