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?

9 things that bug me...well, make it 10

We all have things that drive us nuts. Pet peeves. Annoying habits observed from afar. Occurences that leave you unsettled. Just enough to cause you to roll your eyes, or perhaps make the day's lunch slightly rumble in your stomach. Here's some that made the list:

Public dental hygiene. Seeing the person next to me at the stoplight flossing on my way to grab a starbucks wasn't too appetizing. Same can be said for the Target employee brushing her teeth in the women's restroom.

My interest in the Real Housewives series. Sadly, I'm ashamed to say I'm a fan, yet I don't know why. Maybe it's disbelief that people live the way they do, or that they manage to cry in every episode. Yet, I watch. Every. Week.

Buying a new SUV for the very purpose of a DVD entertainment system for our trip to Florida, only to lose the remote. We're the family who turned around once we reached 465 to go home and unpack the car, only to never find said remote. It was, in a nutshell, a looooooong trip.

Telemarketers. So much for a No-Call List, cause let me tell you...They Call. Sometimes more than once in the same day, and always when I'm trying to sleep. Which means I don't.

When my husband puts me on his cellphone speaker, doesn't tell me, then pulls thru a drive-thru. Turns out, the girl at the window heard our entire conversation. And she confirmed it when I didn't believe him.

The smell of broccoli. Yet, I love the taste. So, serve me up a big bowl of the healthy green stuff, say...when I'm plagued with a sinus infection.

Dressing rooms. More specifically, the unflattering light and the depressed feeling when you leave the store. Nothing that a buttery pretzel at a mall kiosk can't repair.

Box fans. Or rather, my husband's need to place one in the path of the bathroom door at night. I've kicked it twice last week while leaving for work, which left me muttering a few choice words as I hurried down the stairs.

Places that only take cash. I hardly ever carry it, thanks to the convenience of the handy ol' debit card. Plus, it's 2011. Join the rest of us.

And finally, bathtubs. More specifically, my husband IN one. Not kidding, the man could live in there and never get out, never once phased by the shriveled-finger look. And when the water gets cold, he adds more hot. Luckily, he gets hungry every now and then.

And that's nine, er, ten.