Coda, Wellesley, and Paco

We have neighbourhood tennis courts so I made Bob attempt to play yesterday. We couldn’t have made contact between the racket and the ball if it were the size of a mack truck. Bob looked like he was swatting flies and I looked like the world’s worst ballerina leaping around the courts.

We spent more time chasing the ball out of bounds and telling each other what to do differently to do better. The blind leading the blind. Bob quit after 30 minutes.

Bob: You’re not very good.

Me: I know, I sucked today. You were bad, too. I swear I used to be good! I even went to tennis camp!

Bob: I don’t believe you. You show no signs of knowing anything about tennis.

Me: Fine, I’ll call my mom and she’ll tell you how awesome I used to be.

*** I called mom immediately***

Me: Did I used to be good at tennis?

Mom: Yeah you were ok. You even went to tennis camp, remember?

Me: Yeah but Bob doesn’t believe me because I played badly today. I used to be better though.

Mom: You used to be able to volley back and forth for a while. You were never a good athlete though. You weren’t bad but you weren’t the greatest. You were OK at tennis.

Me: HA! See, Bob, I WAS good at tennis.

We are going to ignore the fact that my mom slightly mocked my lack of athletic skills and be happy that she told Bob I was better at tennis than he thinks I am.

I went to tennis camp during the summer between 6th and 7th grade. That is where I met my friend Kim for the first time. Now, 16 years later, I still adore her! Perhaps I didn’t retain many tennis skills, but I got a friend for life. That is good enough for me.

My sister is a wee bit crazy and I don’t say that to make myself look more normal. She enjoys running long distances even if she isn’t be chased by bad guys. Every January she uses her Tinkerbell wings to fly down to Florida for the Goofy Challenge: a half marathon on Saturday and a full marathon on Sunday. She runs in a green dress, full-on Tinkerbell wings and a magical wand.

She even carries a camera for the entire 26.2 miles on Sunday to have photos taken with Disney characters along the way.

Hey look! It is tweedle dee, tweedle dumb, and tweedle dumber!

She has been running in the Goofy challenge for the past 7 years! She’s even been featured in Disney’s promotional materials.

You can read about her 2012 race adventures on her own blog here.

Congrats on being perfectly Goofy, and perfectly insane! I’ll stick to the measly 5K races. They are painful enough.

Last night when I was trying to fall asleep, I asked Bob to sing me a song so he “wrote” one for me on the spot.

Bob: I eat spoons. They’re made of metal. I eat SPOOOONS they’re made of metal. I eat SPOOOOOOOONS!

Me: You don’t eat metal, You’re not a goat.

Bob: Baaa! ram you! (while head butting me.) Goats ram things so they should have been called rams. But I guess the name ‘ram’ was already taken so they were named goats.

Me: Goodnight.

Baa ram you!

Slightly before 6am yesterday morning I let the dogs outside to do their business before I left for work. Within moments Wellesley was trotting back to the sliding glass door, tail waggin’ with a mouthful of…rabbit.

I yelled for him to drop it and that is when I knew the rabbit, who I named Stewey, wasn’t dead yet. Wellesley isn’t the brightest crayon in the box so it is no wonder he didn’t have the natural instinct to shake Stewey to break his neck to put him out of his misery. Coda caught many rabbits when he lived in NY and he was a pro. Wells dropped the rabbit on the step outside the door and Coda, proud big brother that is, started wagging his stub of a tail as if he caught Stewey himself.

I hate to see an animal suffering but I also couldn’t bring myself to put him out of his misery so I did what any girl would do. I woke my husband up and told him to deal with it.

Bob dragged both dogs to the bathroom to wash their faces off, and I promptly left for work. Bob said by the time he finished bathing the dogs, the rabbit had passed away on its own time, so he threw it into the field behind out house so coyotes or hawks could feast.

Now the Easter Bunny police are after Wellesley for rabbit-slaughter so I’ve enrolled him in the witness protection program. They’ll never find him. Her.

We let Coda in on the secret of his undercover brother and he was shocked and appalled. “You mean I’m kissing my BROTHER?! Gross!”

The dry Denver air has not been kind to my epidermis. Bob complains about the Alba face lotion I use after I shower. He claims it “smells like feet” but I would like to know whose feet he’s smelling because I find it mildly delightful. When he whines about the smell I give him 2 options: Deal with it, or I can forego the face lotion and look like I’m 50 years old before I turn 30.

He lets me keep “foot face” which in turn prevents my foot from meeting his face. Then he goes on to mock my Turbie Twist towel by calling me Aunt Jemima.

Through the fantastic Pinterest site I found many DIY body scrubs to try using ingredients in my pantry. My mom was the first person to tell me about using sugar to exfoliate. After we rolled peanut butter cookies in a bowl of sugar, I didn’t just ditch the sugar. No, sirree. I poured it into my hands and scrubbed away!

To make my own body scrub I used:

1/2 C white sugar

1/2 C brown sugar

1 Tbsp Veggie oil (or olive oil)

1 Tsp Vanilla

1 empty, clean jar

Pay close attention so you don’t mess this part up: mix it all together. Can you handle that?

That is all! These would make great gifts for the holidays or if you’re too cheap to spend more than 20 cents a person on ingredients.

I couldn’t wait to shower after I made the scrub. I shed an entire layer of skin like a chameleon and I smelled like I had just rolled in a vat of cookies. Maybe I really DID roll around in cookies. I’ll never tell and I don’t judge.