Beauty is Only Skin Deep

I was complaining the other day that my heels were dry and cracked from wearing sandles this summer.


Sammie replies, "Well, my heels are moist and soft."  


I say, "Well, you have young, healthy skin, sweetie.


To which Sammie replies, "So that means your skin is . . . . ?  Oops, never mind.  I probably shouldn't say it out loud."


"My skin is a little older, I say.  Not OLD, just older."


"Right, Sammie says.  Just older.  You're not OLD yet.  You still have a FEW good years left in you.





Posted by Sheryl

Then & Now . . . The Road to Bliss

My humorous reflection on the dating years vs. a decade+ of marriage and raising a family (pondered while sitting in the car  the other day) . . . .

Disclosure:  The following is intended to be funny and sarcastic and in no way detracts from the utter bliss of marriage/family life that I envisioned when saying my "I do's" 11 years ago.  It is possible, however, that the few roadblocks, detours and road closures (read infertility, bankruptcy, foreclosure, implosion of my husband's real estate empire, - o.k mini empire - , his ensuing mid-life crisis, and my own mid-life crisis (evidenced by the untold number of lbs I've put on) may have slightly tainted my view of "Happily Ever After."

In no particular order:

Romance &The Morning After

Dating Years:  Breakfast in bed, flowers, reading the paper together.

Family Years:  Rock- paper-scissors with Matt to decide who will let the dogs out, make coffee and watch the Disney Channel with our early riser, Samantha.

Culture

Dating Years:  Denver Art Museum, Buell Theater, Concerts at Botanic Gardens

Family Years:  Children's Museum, Disney on Ice, and any free concert at the local park.

Friday Night Date Night at Home

Dating Years:  Frank Sinatra on the ipod, martinis, appetizers from some cool recipe we saw on the Food Network, and dessert from the same.

Family Years:  Frozen pizza, board games, "G" Movies, Ben & Jerry's on the couch.

Extra Curricular Activities

Dating Years:  Wink, wink, wink   ;)

Family Years:  Girl Scouts, piano lessons, art class, horseback riding

Social Circle

Dating Years:  Friends, bosses, colleagues

Family Years:  The parents of your child's friends, the Girl Scout leader, the piano teacher, the art instructor, the riding instructor.

Fashion:

Dating Years:  Nordstrom, Anne Taylor, Talbots and department stores in the mall.

Family Years:  Whatever is on sale at Kohl's or Target

Financial Goals:

Dating Years:  $ to travel the world, 928 "Risky Business" Porche (Matt), lovely custom home where we can entertain, while relaxing on all of our Pottery Barn and Crate & Barrel furniture.

Family Years:  $ to stay at the YMCA camp for a few days each summer, goal to get debt free on our 10 year old vehicles, $ to make mortgage payments on our humble track home - sitting on our 12 year old Pottery Barn furniture with rips, stains and crumbs.

Measure of Happiness:

Dating Years:  Fulfilling marriage and family life, successful career, perfect examples of "40 is the new 30", etc.

Marriage Years:  Hoping we can put up with each other for another 10 years, praying  we don't screw up our kid too badly, working our $!*$*! off to put money in the bank for the next real estate crash . . . .and apparently "40 feels more like the old 50 at our house."

Who said fairytales don't come true?

Sheryl

The Athlete in the Family

By all counts, Matt is the athlete in the family.  He is also the most accident prone.

While playing "soccer" in the backyard with Sammie, Matt tried to show off his sweet header move, returning Sammie's kick and putting the soccer ball into play with his forehead.  That was the plan anyway.

Turns out, he took it straight in the nose instead.

Grace runs deep in this family . . .

Planning for the Golden Years

During a conversation with Sammie about family taking care of family, and loved ones helping loved ones, I tossed out the question:  "Who will take care of mommy and daddy when we get old?"

After a brief few seconds of contemplation, Sammie replies (very casually and with no humor intended), "Well, you'll take care of yourselves, I guess. . . .or you can go to the senior citizen home."

And that was the end of that!



Matt and me in our golden years at the senior citizen home.



"The Plight of the Bunny" OR "How to Undo the Mind of an Average Suburban Housewife."

I love our little 8-mo. old Cairn Terrier mix that we adopted from the shelter.  He's everything we never knew we always wanted (or is that, "he's everything we ALWAYS knew we NEVER wanted?")  After last night's escapades, I'm pretty sure it's the latter.

Matt and I were both working late after getting Sammy to bed.  I went downstairs to briefly chat with my husband and, while doing so, decided to let my dear little Frisco in from outside.  It was dark and I wasn't really paying attention when I let him in.  A few minutes later, I see him fly by at lightening speed with a little squeaky toy (or so I thought) in his mouth.  When I see him run by again, I hear another squeak and don't quite recognize the toy in his mouth.  I tell Matt, a little nervously, "Hey, Frisco has something in his mouth and I don't know what it is.  It's something grey." 

"Oh, says Matt. That's just Sammy's little stuffed dog toy that she gave him." 

"I don't think so, I say, because I tossed that toy in the trash this morning (insert another squeak or two coming from my little speeding bullet's mouth as he does another lap around the living room)."  I'm worried he has something other than a toy", I say in my now shaky voice as I try to sound calm and collected.

At this point, Matt jumps up and starts to chase after Frisco. (If you ever spend more than 5 minutes with my dog, you will know that this is pretty much a losing battle.  "Little Dude" is REALLY fast, he's small, and he's smarter than the dickens when it comes to the chase game). 

Matt gets close enough to see that this is, in fact, NOT a toy.

"Is it an animal?", I shriek. 

"Yes, I think so", he replies.

"Oh, my god!", I say.  "Don't chase him!"  He'll just come running toward me with it!" (Note that my panic level is rising at this point).  I don't think I need to remind anyone here about my abnormal yet very REAL fear of squirrels and other rodents.  

"I need to get out of here!", I say.  (no longer with any sense of calm or rationality.)  You see . . . my sweet little pup has had a tendency, since day one , to follow me around wherever I go.  I realize that I've got to remove myself from the premises in a quick, yet sneaky manner so as not to encourage my canine pal to notice.  If he sees me leave the room, he's coming after me and he will surely want to show me his proud catch!

"Go upstairs", says my husband who is probably now wondering how he's going to wrestle this animal away from Frisco AND keep his wife from "losing it" in the process. 

I wait for my moment (goosebumps rising on my arms, my heart pounding out of my chest, sweat forming in little beads across my forehead).  I know that if I don't stay calm, I might blow my one and only chance to escape.  (As I write this, I realize this sounds more like a prison break than just a simple trek from the living room to the office upstairs).  I might need therapy (just sayin').

I see my opportunity.  I make a quiet, yet VERY quick scramble up the stairs and trip over myself into the office, where I frantically slam my office door.

I stand with my ear against the door of my office and listen to the track meet that's going on downstairs (along with a few expletives, courtesy of Matt). This goes on a little longer than one would think - but, again, this is the Lightening McQueen of Cairn Terriers we're talking about. 

Finally, I hear the patio door slam shut and all is quiet.  A few moments later Matt comes upstairs and opens the door (and this is where I'm pretty sure I should seek therapy) . . . .

As he opens the door - and I know full well that it's just Matt, and that Matt would never dare traumatize me by bringing some small, dead little rodent-like creature within 50 feet of me), I still utter a little scream.

"I got it, he says."

"What is it?", I ask.

"Baby bunny", he replies.

"Is it . . ."you know" . . . ?, I say.

"I'm not sure", he answers.  I'm going back OUT THERE to check on him".

I stay in my office (again, not really sure why since the drama is over now).  I start to contemplate how this story is going to end.  In addition to my abnormal fear of rodents, I also have an abnormal senstivity to the slightest suffering of animals (be it a missed meal, a cold night on the indoor bed without a blanket, or a necessary yet seemingly cruel procedure called neutering - you get the picture).  Anyway, I'm playing this out in my mind, visualizing the near-dead bunny, slowly and agonizingly dying on my back patio, the ensuing grief and trauma that his bunny parents and bunny siblings will be subjected to, and the ultimate plot by said bunny family to seek revenge on the evil humans who claim ownership of the criminal Cairn Terrier. 

I await his return.

He comes back.

"The bunny is not where I left him", he says.  "I think he might have survived.  It appears he has run off."

A heavy sigh and moment of relief on my part.  I don't have to plan a bunny memorial ceremony after all. 

Just a brief moment, though, as I now prepare for sleepless nights filled with doggie/bunny nightmares that will surely plague me for the next week or so.

Anybody have a good therapist they would recommend?

Posted by Sheryl (who has a sick love/fear relationship with animals)

Shorty Shorts

Went shopping with Sam today to pick out some spring/summer clothes.  She asks me, "Mom, can I get some shorty shorts?"  I ask her, "Well, what are shorty shorts?; you'll have to show me."  She does and I'm thinking I'm not too sure about the looks of these.  I tell her we'll try them on and see.

1.  She tries them on.

2.  I say that I think these are too short for my taste

3.  She asks "why?"

4.  I say they're a little too "fresh".

5.  "What does "fresh" mean?, she asks.

6.  I say they're a little too revealing.

7.  "What does "revealing" mean?"

8.  I say they show too much skin and they're not appropriate for her age.

9.  "What makes clothing appropriate?", she asks.
10.  "Not showing too much skin", I say.
11.  "Ok", she replies.  "I don't get it but if it makes you happy, that's fine."

Whew!  Ignorance is bliss.  It's only gonna get harder from here . . .

Sheryl

Sam's Plan for the Future

While snuggled up in our bed last night, watching TV, Sam decided she would grab her note pad and make a "Plan for the Future." 

She shared it with us when she was finished (I am copying this verbatim):

1.  Finish college

Hmmm, do you think Matt can build this?

2.  Get married

3.  Adopt from China

4.  Go on a family trip with kids

5.  Get a real house (not an apartment)

6.  Become a princess

TRAPPING TIME

Hello family and friends!  Sammy here.  today i made  a leprecaun trap.  I put a sighn in front of the trap.  We made a hat and decorated it.  My dad made some cuts on the top so when  

he walks on top he will fall in.  If he dosnt i will be mad!  The ladder is made out of sticks from the back yard.

                                                   "   HAPPY ST. PATRICKS

                                                                  DAY!"

Straight A's

As we begin to near the end of the school year, I had this recent thought . . .

Is it wrong to encourage your daughter to get straight A's just so that you can take her report card into Krispy Kreme for free donuts?

Don't answer that question . . .

Sheryl

Miss Piggy

Typewritten and posted by Sammy . . .

Today my friend Zac called me miss Piggy.  Well here is how it happend.  I was walking in to the classroom and zac came over and said "are you miss Piggy or somthing?"  I didnt know what to say! At writing i was in a group and i told mrs. munoz what zac had said.  Mrs.munoz said what!!!!!  Zac said "well she is a diva and she loves pink and she is sparkly what cant you see!'  Zac was talking about it all day and telling his best friends!  Well thats all for today!
                                     " PEACE"