You May Wish For More Regular, Succinct, and Having-a-point Posts

I'm baaaaaaaaaaack.
Sorry for the long absence. I didn't plan it, but I really did think tales of saggy pecs would keep you for a week or two. Guess I was wrong.

We went to Missouri for Thanksgiving and we had a great time. I may make it well into my 50's without ever having made a turkey or hosted Thanksgiving. My sister is a superb hostess and amazing cook and with my mom 3 blocks away, my perfect role is that of eater and feeder. I did a lot of both.

Some highlights: On Thanksgiving day, Bo's cousin introduced him to the wishbone and together they pulled one apart. Bo got the bigger end. With which he promptly sliced his finger. I guess he didn't wish for the winning piece to not hurt him. Is it irony to be in love with Spiderman, break apart a wishbone, wish that there be no spiders, and promptly get cut by the wishbone? I'm not really clear on the definition of irony, but that seems like it should be.

My sister's mashed potatoes.

My sister-in-law's cheesecake. J, in his very J-esque way, walked past it and took a small sampling and kept walking. As the taste hit his buds, he spun around and went right back to the pan, while loudly exclaiming in what could have been insulting surprise, "WOW! THAT is good cheesecake!"

Thanksgiving Day was Bo's half birthday. He heard the word "cake" in reference to cheesecake and he was sure that the cheesecake was for his birthday. I did not correct him. Less work for me, right? Typically, while I think it's a cute idea, we haven't ever really acknowledged half birthdays. Less work for me, right? But, Bo has been obsessed with being 4 and a half. Since he was born in the 3rd week of May, I just told him (months ago) that he would be 4 and a half at Thanksgiving. We were both delighted to learn that it was actually on Thanksgiving Day. I don't know why I was delighted too. I just was.

On Friday we got to go to a Blue Man Group concert. It was really good. I wasn't sure how enjoyable grown men dressed in blue who won't talk would be. It was so good. We left the kids with my mom and went with a few of my siblings. I was so excited about leaving my kids I even put lipstick on and combed my hair. I think one of the blue men totally noticed me.

On Saturday just before we headed out of town we went to this little Greek restaurant where the food was UH-mazing. I realized I was way more into the food than is socially acceptable when the waitress started clearing plates but didn't touch anything within the radius of my arm's reach. I think she was afraid she'd get bitten. As she should have been.

Today we're back and I keep finding my nose pressed to a cold round stone that keeps turning. Very unpleasant.

Bo is sick and home from school. Danyo has only woken up to eat and periodically scoot around the living room since we got home. He is catching up on a week of missed sleep because he was more interested in crying and being held. Wide awake.

Avee is still in diapers and a pink cast. My sister has hardwood floors so Avee had to modify her prance in order to stay upright. It was pretty funny, a rhythmic chink-clunk-BOB. She had to get a grip with her toes that stuck out from her cast, but couldn't resist the clunk her cast makes on the ground, so she fit it all in and managed to make her gimpy bobbing up and down look completely adorable.

There is nothing adorable about the way I walk. Ever. When I was in high school I performed at a piano recital that got video taped. I watched myself walk right up to the camera and then veer left. I was horrified when I saw the footage. I had on a pretty cute dress, I had a great figure, my hair was long and luscious, without stating the obvious, I was pretty stunning. And then there was the walk. My feet both just pointed out in opposite directions. If ducks were 5'11", wore blue dresses and had long red hair, that is what they would look like. It was very sad for me to see this about myself. I tried to correct it, but much like thinking a stiff back and butt sticking out was the key to beauty making myself walk pigeon-toed didn't fix anything. I have a hard life guys. Well, I saw a snippet of footage my brother took after the BMG concert and saw myself walking. Picture, no sexy blue dress, a short-not-so-red-anymore haired woman who looks like she ate the hot 16 year old me, STILL walking like a duck.

Yeah, as soon as I finish this pint of Phish Food, I'm totally going on a diet. And learning how to walk...unduckish.



p.s. these pictures were taken by my SIL Cyndi who is an amazing (self-taught, no lessons, thank you very much DAD) photographer. She also reads this blog, so you can tell her what a great photographer she is if you think so too. I've already told her like, infinity times.