Are encyclopedias even in print anymore? And if so, does anyone actually buy them?
I am feeling the pull of the ocean all the way here in central Illinois. It’s been something like twenty years since I’ve stood on the coast watching waves roll in, and The General has yet to experience the beauty of the ocean. I think both of these facts are a travesty and should be addressed immediately.
The month of May is less than a week away. I find this simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating.
I wonder why, after completing a P90X workout, I’m not sore until almost 24 hours later, yet after running 2 miles I am feeling it immediately upon finishing from my hips down to my ankles.
Discussing the idea of participating in a five mile race is not a good idea when I am a beer and a half into the evening. Apparently even the most atrocious suggestions sounds like a jolly good time after 18 ounces. Damn that liquid courage!
Lastly on the topic of running, I totally achieved the elusive “runner’s high” on Friday night. A two mile run came to an end only because it was getting dark; I felt so good during that workout that I would have gladly continued on if nightfall and the fear of either being run over by fast moving vehicles or attacked by deer or skunks hadn’t set in.
I believe that I am slowly turning into a Coca-Cola lover. I blame McDonald’s. I also fear that this confession will be yet another factor which may cause irreparable damage to the fiber of my marriage.
On a more positive note, I’ve decided my brief fling with the Cubs was a total fluke. I’ll still cheer for them silently should they make it to the play-offs, but I now realize I’m much more interested in that stadium hot dog than anything else.
In two weekends the family will be in Iowa to celebrate with Munchkin as she participates in her graduation ceremonies. I am still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that Munchkin – who was just a wee little thing finishing first grade when I showed up around the family – is going to get to check the “Dr.” box on all her magazine subscriptions from here on out. We’re proud of you, Munchkin!
I love the names Carter, Evan, Reagan, Olivia, Jake, Luke, and Kathryn.
If we ever get a dog, I’m lobbying hard for its name to be “Maverick”. It’ll be a tough fight against “Butkus,” one of The General’s long-time favorites. The breed, however, is non-negotiable. Golden or lab, for the win!
If our Sunday evening living room dance party is any indication, The Bride may want to consider renting some mobile padded walls for their reception. Punkin’s latest moves include: somersaults, couch vaulting, roundhouse kicks, Chuck Norris-esque air punches, head rolls that mimic those of trippin’ hippies at Woodstock, and of course her go-to booty shaking. I advise all who may join her on the dance floor to allow her a least a four foot perimeter lest you suffer the same type of beating that Shortcake’s shoulder took when she innocently invaded her sister’s dance space.
I used to consider “patience” as one of my defining character traits. With each passing year, though, that quality is rapidly diminishing. I find this frustrating and wonder what has happened to make me lose my grip. Where it was once something I unconsciously practiced, I now have to make a concentrated effort to keep my cool in situations that require time and effort. I blame motherhood mostly, but isn’t that a kick in the pants? I mean, parenting requires the utmost patience, yet it’s with my own children that I find myself being the most impatient.
In going along with my theme from last summer, I’m currently researching and taking suggestions for kid-friendly activities and day trips. Already on the list: the zoo (again), swim lessons (again), and possibly the American Girl store. I’m also considering one of the museums in Chicago (probably either The Shedd or the Field Museum) if anyone would be interested in accompanying me.
I’m trying to grow Lilly of the Valley underneath my dining room window. This is my second attempt, and it is not going well. I would also like a lilac bush somewhere on our property so that I don’t have to resort to tactics like mother to get fresh blooms into my house, that being stealing from the bushes planted at the cemetery or from the local Baptist church. With each passing year I realize I am more like her than I was previously willing to admit, and stealing lilacs would be the final step toward complete transformation.
Am I the last person to know that there’s a water park in Yorkville?