Ever done...THIS?

We think we've lost our minds.

But, who hasn't, right? That, or maybe we're just figuring out something most of you have already assumed about my family for some time now.

We've lost it.

Here's the short version: Said family was set to head downtown to High Velocity inside the new JW Marriott for a WFMS pre-party prior to the Colts game. Said family's husband was running errands, and rather than come all the way home, he suggested we meet somewhere half-way and drop off his car, so said family could ride in one vehicle. Said husband's wife agreed this was a reasonable, though they aren't always, idea. Following the party, said family buckles up for a safe ride home, commenting on how A)tired they are B)the onion rings rocked and C)they shouldn't have eaten the onion rings. Said family's home, a good 35 minutes from downtown Indy, is a welcome sight to two tired and cranky boys who needed to be tucked in to bed, well, yesterday.

That's when said family realized they forgot to pick up said husband's car where they had parked it 3 hours earlier. And there they sat, mouths open, staring at an empty garage.

Said family agreed they are dorks.

And so it goes.

why I dread bedtime routines

Well, here I am.

Sadly, I couldn't recall my password when I tried to log in to my blog, it's been that long since I've written. Rather than go in to some Charlie Sheen rant about why I haven't had time to write, I'll just say life has been full of hurdles.

As I tucked my youngest in to bed last night, I made a mental note to share one of the many conversations in my home that make me smile. And sometimes bang my head against a wall, but mostly smile.

I'm talking about bedtime routines.

Most kids need them, we have them, but ironically, I hate them. It's usually a struggle to get the kids in bed during what I consider to be a reasonable hour. Last night was no different. Something always delays the process. And while there are many things I love about my 6-year-old, like his Elvis impersonations, his Beatles t-shirt, and how he tries to be helpful by collecting the mail, only to drop random pieces all the way up the drive, he is also very stubborn.

That trait makes picking out his school clothes during bedtime routine a bit challenging. I blame athletic clothing for that, since Hayden believes they should be part of his school uniform every day. And, for the record, he's not fond of budging on this policy. I would like his teacher to think he spends at least an occasional day OFF of a basketball court. So, there we were last night, with his refusal to wear anything that doesn't make him look like an NBA or NFL star making the unpopular bedtime routine a dreaded task.

Me: Hayden, you don't have gym tomorrow, so we are wearing khaki shorts.

Hayden: No, Mom. Athletic!

Me: C'mon, buddy...just one day...you wore them over the summer. You can wear these, Choice A, or these, Choice B. They are just a bit different. Your call.

Hayden: Hmmmm...

Me: One more time, Choice A with the cool pockets, or these, Choice B, the darker ones.

Hayden: Ummm...I'll pick...Choice C...ATHLETIC.

Night, Mom.

I'm doing okay, really

No need to order flowers.

Save those condolence cards. I'm doing just fine.

I say that because my clever little 6-year-old who will one day be voted 'Most likely to say something unlikely' told some classmates last week that his mom, well, kicked the bucket.

Not just died, but died THAT MORNING. How impressive that he still managed to show up for class. That's my boy, always thinking of his education.

Unfortunately, his attempt at some not-so-funny humor resulted in a couple of girls going home and telling their parents, who then called the teacher with worry and condolences. Hayden told on himself, only to warn me that his teacher would be calling me to discuss it, and the phone rang before he finished his sentence. My first phone call of the year.

Hey, we didn't want to end the school year without some fanfare. I mean, no phone call all year long? Boooooooooring.

When I explained that we won't be falsifying family deaths anytime soon, translation...ever again, Hayden apologized and tried glossing over the situation by saying with a grin, 'But, didn't you break your arm while roller-skating as a kid?'

That, I did. And by the way, you're grounded.

blame it on the salad dressing

Girl time.

Should be a national holiday if you ask me. Girl time is a necessity, a dose of sanity that doesn’t come in a pill bottle. If you’re a guy who is reading this, you may not understand, but keep reading. It will benefit you to know why we women get together over a glass of wine and talk for hours, sometimes about you, but not always. We also contemplate why haircuts cost so much, why we didn’t come up with the Skinny Girl Margarita ourselves, and how to lose the muffin top without actually doing a single sit-up.

So far, we've yet to solve the latter.

Today, I met my longtime high school friend for lunch at a restaurant near her office. It was a belated birthday for her, and we both, dangit, ordered salads while secretly hoping the other would be the first to order a steak. Never happened. So, a bowl of lettuce it was, and not a single scrap of cheese. Not sure about you, but the idea of fat-free honey mustard didn’t have me doing cart-wheels. It’s kinda like eating cake without the icing. Or pasta without the sauce. So, I kindly asked for a different dressing, and my friend did the same. No big deal. No weird requests to have our sunflower seeds sprinkled on only half the salad, or the seeds removed from our cherry tomatoes.

Long awkward pause.

Mr. Waiter had no expression on his face whatsoever, so he was either A) Confused B) Mesmerized by our beauty or C) not in the mood for two salad-eating chicks who make changes to their order, so I smiled and tried some humor, stating ’We’re high-maintenance, huh?’ And you know what?

He agreed.

cousins: pure awesomeness

Not sure how it is in your family, but in mine, we like each other.

We even enjoy spending time together, rather than dreading occasional visits and hoping our relatives lose our contact information. Both of my sisters have kids, and a mere mention to my boys that we will be seeing their cousins is similar to handing them four giant-sized Hershey bars. They have a good time together, and we can easily not hear from them for hours when they disappear upstairs to 'hang.' That's code for 'whatever they do when they get together and we don't hear from them for hours.'

After our usual Mother's Day celebration Sunday with the extended fam, it was time to call it a day and head home to tackle homework, mow perfectly straight lines in the lawn, and tuck two worn-out boys in bed.

Except they didn't want to leave.

They love their cousins. Likewise, their cousins think they're pretty cool. So they huddled together and playfully refused to separate, and I captured the moment with my camera. They eventually formed a kickline and giggled as my sister and I watched with grins on our faces.

Here's to cousins. And to the hope that they will always have each other's back.

Note: We missed 3-year-old Jackson, my nephew, in these photos. Little guy left to take a nap.

a chat with a future comedian

Him: Hey Mom, this 2nd-grade girl at school was totally checking me out today.

Me: Oh yeah? How do you know?

Him: Mom. Really? She was doing this _______. (Insert a 6-year-old's imitation of a girl making googly eyes.)

Me: I see.

Him: It was on the playground. So, I hung upside down on the monkey bars for another minute just so she could get a longer look.

Me: Smart move.

Him: Lookin' good for the ladies!

Me: (Trying to contain my laughter) Hayden, I don't know where you get it.

Him: (As he runs off) I'm tellin' you, Mom. I am sooooooo gettin' a girlfriend.

Clearly, I'm in trouble.

loving their dad

There's nothing more satisfying than seeing your children interact with their father.

It's the same as being entertained at a movie theatre, minus the sticky floors and rear-widening buttery popcorn. I love to observe from afar, like a fly on the wall that goes unnoticed. To them, they are just being. Boys being boys. Wrestling. Secret handshakes. And huge claps of noisiness.

It makes my heart grin.

Like when my husband jokingly grabs our youngest son's muscular thighs, saying 'I'm gonna get those hams. Gimme those hams!' And our son breaks out into laughter so genuine that he has to catch his breath and I can't help but laugh as well.

Or the secret trips to McDonald's drive-thru for a McFlurry after lacrosse practice, where my oldest son is told by his father with a grin, 'This is our little secret. Don't tell Mom.' And every time, I'm told.

Or the time Greg returned home from work and sat on the couch, only to be met by a bouncing 6-year-old, who sprang into his father's lap and squealed, 'It's snuggle time!'

Or last week, when I mentioned to our youngest that his father had a surprise for him, and he told me, 'I'll bet he wants to snuggle with me at bedtime. I just know it!' And to him, time with dad beat any store-bought gift that ever existed.

I love that.

I love that they will remember these moments years from now, as they raise their own miniature versions of themselves. Just like I remember my dad, the Necco wafers, footrubs for a pack of grape Bubble Yum, and 'Debber-Doo' nickname that still echoes in my mind.

All forever etched in my heart.

it's how we roll

Shouldn't we all wear this to get donuts?