"Triathlon"

I put the title in quotes because when you hear the word triathlon, it sounds quite impressive. What my husband and I competed in was actually fun; not grueling or exhausting and we weren't sore for days on end. Well, more specifically, he wasn't sore for days on end. I woke up the next morning (and the morning after that, and the one after that...) feeling like I had been run over by a truck. A very big one.

The alarm clock went off at 4:30 a.m. last Saturday morning and I responded with an "Ugh", a deep breath and a sigh. I am soooo not a morning person. You would think someone knowing they were getting up early with plans to physically exert themselves would at the very least go to bed early - but not me. What can I say? I'm a rebel. A really dumb rebel. My husband and I drug ourselves out of bed and ate a nice, hearty breakfast before driving three hours to the race. "Are you excited," the more physically fit part of this martial union asked during our ridiculously long drive. Excited? Meh. Nervous? Oh yeah!

Something you should know about my husband, Ben, is that he is competitive. I don't mean a little bit competitive; I mean "use every ounce of energy you have and there better be blood, sweat, and tears in the end so I know you gave it your all" competitive. And me? I'm more of a "finish well, but let's get real - you have children to raise and work on Monday, so don't kill yourself out there" kind of competitive. We make a great team, right?!

I'll pause the play by play for a public service announcement at no extra charge. Port-a-potties suck! If I never use another one again it will be too soon. Gag! What were those people eating before they got there? And for goodness sakes people, don't look down when you're in there! Never, ever look down the forsaken hole! Double gag! Oh how I wished I was equipped with male genitalia during those 30 seconds of pure agony.

Back to the story already in progress. We signed up for heat 3 (the very last) of the race to be on safe side. This was, after all, our first time competing and we didn't want to be the newbies holding everyone up. We were bussed to the starting line of the first leg of the race - the dreaded canoe. We had never canoed together. We own kayaks, but never once had we been in a canoe together. This was the part of the race I was most nervous about. And I had good reason to be. We struggled our way through all three and a half miles of the river course where there was absolutely no current, might I add. About five minutes into the hour long paddling stint, I questioned Ben's decision to put me in the back of the canoe but what can you do at that point? I was totally drenched once we reached the finish line. My suspicion was that at least some of those splashes were intentional, but I have no actual proof. I was just happy no one fell (or was pushed) out of the boat.

For the second part of the race, Ben biked an 8-mile single track course through the woods. He naturally did great but had to get off his bike a few times on the steep uphills due to lesser experienced riders in front of him. I could see the excitement on his face and how he thoroughly enjoyed passing other bikers as he rode into the final transition area to tag me. And then, I was off! I felt pressure to finish this thing well. As soon as I made the first turn and headed into the woods I passed a dude. A dude! Yeah, baby! As I passed him, he told me good job and I was struck by what a kind gesture that was. I decided then to try to be just as encouraging to other racers. I had to be careful as I ran up and down hills, around trees and over roots. I definitely did not want to face plant in front of everyone. That would be embarrassing and it would probably hurt, too. (If that's not incentive - I don't know what is.) I hit one mile at 8:40 and I was stoked considering the nature of the course. I passed a few more runners and it felt great! I told each one of them in some form or fashion they were doing well. I set my sights on passing the final runner and announced to him as I closed in that I was coming up on his left since the course was narrow. To my surprise, he held his hands out and told me I wasn't getting by. I was speechless. My only option was to stay behind him or trip him and I am definitely not that type of competitive, remember? Thankfully, he then laughed and moved over to let me pass but vowed to catch up to me later. We bantered back and forth on the last half mile about how he was or wasn't going to finish ahead of me but in the end I won. I finished the course with an official time of 22:19 (my watch showed 21:52 but I digress). We placed 9th overall and I placed 6th among female runners. Oh yeah!!

An official race photo wasn't captured of me (which I am perfectly okay with) but here is one of Ben. I love the guy cheesing in front of him.:



I think we might have to do this again. You know, after some canoeing practice. :)

Savoring

Here lately, I have heard several stories that involve lives ending too soon.  A local high school girl complaining of chest pains was admitted into the ER and was being treated for pneumonia. The next day, she died of a blood clot in her lungs… A co-worker’s mom was recently diagnosed with a brain tumor. Today, she received a prognosis that she has 6 weeks to live… The list could unfortunately go on and on. It really makes you stop and think. While we know in the back of our minds we are not guaranteed tomorrow, we always think these scenarios will happen to someone else.

Tonight, I’m going to spend a little extra time tucking my children into bed.

For the Love of Fall

On a recent camping trip, we were blessed to time our mini vacation along with the beginning of fall. The cooler night temps, waking up to cook breakfast in the brisk morning air, the grass at home finally slowing down its need to be mowed every four days - it was all quite pleasant! Fall makes me ready to embrace change. My thoughts run wild with ideas on how to change my home decor to include warm, fall colors and my dinner menu to incorporate hearty soups followed by warm desserts like apple crisp. I'm ready for a change of wardrobe and cozy boots. I want to snuggle under blankets in the evening with my hubby and carve pumpkins with my children (well, maybe just paint pumpkins - no one likes to pull out the pumpkin guts and I always get stuck with that job).

This year, fall also makes me feel old. Fall is when my first born child came into this world. It's when my life was forever changed by my beautiful baby boy that is growing into a handsome young man right before my eyes. This year brings the thirteenth anniversary of that blessed event. *GASP* Even as I type the words, I can hardly believe it myself. The same boy that once told me, "Don't cry, Mommy. If you cry; I'll cry" still holds my heart in the palm of his adult sized hand. (By the way, that comment was made after I got a speeding ticket. In case you didn't already know, I am sooooooo not a rebel.)

I wake up every morning waiting to see if the son I now literally see eye to eye with has surpassed me in height and to hear if his voice has grown any deeper. While I absolutely love watching him grow and mature, every once in a while, I long for the times he used to curl up in my lap and need me to comfort him. I long to kiss the top of his head and breathe in his sweet scent without him sighing "Mooooooom". I think I should spend the next month enjoying every second I can before he enters his teens and figures out it's not cool to been seen in public with your mom. Maybe I'll even put a brick on top of his head.

We're in this together

My hot hubby (see header if you don't believe me) went on a primitive camping trip this past weekend with four guy friends. They packed up a few belongings that included mountain bikes, kayaks and one very large tent and went on their merry way. I was invited, but no. Just no. You did catch the “primitive” part, right? I need a toilet. And preferably running water. Make that warm running water. Call me spoiled - I'm totally okay with it. I openly admit to the fact that I would have made a terrible wife in the "good 'ol days". When you add those facts with the joy of camping with five grown men and their glory (belches, farts, and general grossness)…. I’ll pass, thankyouverymuch. Here's a video recep of their trip:

I want to take this time to give a shout out to wife whom called her husband 1,000 times while they were gone so she could tattle on her kids. She made me look really good!

I am not afraid to stay at home by myself, but I chose to load up the kids and stay with my parents for one of our daddy-free nights out of sheer convenience. I had an early morning run scheduled for the following day and I needed someone to watch my sleeping babes. My oldest may be twelve, but I'm still not comfortable with him being in charge of anything, let along his living, breathing sister. And I love my Mom and Dad, but I love living in my own home more. I was reminded of that very quickly this weekend. Yay for being an adult! Being treated to lunch was great and they even bought us stuff when we went shopping, but I can only take them in small doses. That's why I cut out as soon as we returned home. In all fairness, I'm sure the feeling is mutual. A backseat full of whining kids probably isn't their idea of fun these days. In case you're wondering, yes, I am including myself as a whiny kid but in my defense, my dad would not just stop the car already and make a decision about where to eat lunch. It was a hostage situation! My stomach was the victim. I don't do well when I have to go long periods of time without eating. He should know this.

I spent the rest of the weekend single parenting it. *Insert thumbs down* I applaud those women and men whom do it on a daily basis because kids will wear-you-smack-dab-out! Physically, emotionally... you name it! I'm very thankful for my husband/refereeing partner. To him, I owe my sanity!

Current Tidbits about Me

1. I'm tired. I've been getting up at the butt crack of dawn this week to exercise because my evenings are just too busy. My body seems to be rejecting this insane new schedule. It is accustomed to exercising, eating dinner and then sleeping so when I go for a run and eat breakfast, it signals my brain to shut down because the only logical thing to follow those two consecutive activities is sleep.*Yawn*
   
   
2. Walgreen's sucks. I've said it before but this time I mean it... I'm never developing pictures there again. I am by no means a good photographer but I have a decent-ish camera. I was in a hurry the other night and needed to order some pics in a hurry and thought Walgreen's would be the quickest option. My daughter needed to take some family pics to preschool the next day and who in this digital day and time has pictures lying around that they don't mind grubby preschool hands touching? Not me, that's who. I hurriedly uploaded some pics to Walgreen's website and arranged to have them ready after a meeting I had to attend that night. One problem... they wouldn't give them to me. I was told they needed a copyright release for any photographs that appeared to be professional. I don't think they look professional at all, but this lady was under a different opinion. When I asked her how I was supposed to provide a copyright release when I don't own a photography business, she just shrugged and said she had to have one. I politely told her she could keep them (yes, politely... and it wasn't easy because my blood pressure had to be through the roof). Their print quality is terrible anyway. So there!
   
   
3. Girls = Drama.  More specifically, preteen girls = drama. My son is on his third girlfriend of this school year. (By the way, school started exactly three weeks ago.) I'm trying to steer him in the right direction and help him spot the characteristics of a drama queen, but he hasn't developed a knack for it quite yet. I hope this isn't any indication of what my future daughter-in-law is going to be like. *Update - I just found out my son's girlfriend kissed him at school. Kissed! At school!! Oy! We sat him down and told him that he could get suspended for that kind of crap. What?! He could! Maybe... Possibly... Anyway, I think I just aged by 10 years. Can't I just lock him in a closet until he's 18?
   
   
4. Girls = Drama(2). This one pertains to my daughter (in this case, we'll call her "her father's child"). Why, oh why does she have to be so opinionated? From what color the cup she drinks out of is to what shoes she wears with a specific outfit to how her hair is fixed in the mornings... Should a four year old really care this much? I'll give you an example. We were recently in the market for a new backpack. My daughter's favorite color is purple. Well, it WAS purple... from age one right up until the time that I found an adorable purple backpack I thought she was absolutely going to love. I have to give mad props to the online Land's End customer service rep that let me exchange it out for blue (her NEW favorite color). She quite possibly saved my life. Well, maybe that's a bit of an overstatement but at the very least she saved me a few Excedrin Migraine tablets.

Giddy as a School Girl

I left off my last entry with a promise to update on what progress I made on my chore list this past weekend. I know, I'm slow but bear with me. The answer: not a whole lot. And I'm perfectly okay with that. The tall, dark and handsome gentleman I'm blessed enough to be married to took me out on a date. Yay! No kids, no worries... just me and him. Our evening got off to a fantastic start when we ate at Outback for $11, 20% tip included (thanks to a $25 gift card). For those of you that aren't familiar with me, saving money makes me a very happy girl. Afterward, we did a little shopping and then went to the movies to watch "Salt" - this is a great movie, by the way. The night was still young so we ended the night with a fun game of bowling. Because what's not fun about laughing at your wife that totally sucks at bowling, right?

We slept in Saturday morning and then enjoyed a homemade breakfast of French toast, bacon and scrambled eggs before heading for a workout at our local YMCA. We ate lunch at Subway and enjoyed a movie at home later that evening while fine dining on delivery pizza. It wasn't the healthiest of weekends but that's okay because having the weekend as a reminder of why we're in this thing together to begin with made it completely worth the extra carbs and calories. It's so easy to get caught up in the day to day hustle and bustle of getting kids where they need to be, work schedules, homework, dinner, pointing fingers (that's YOUR kid because MY kid wouldn't do that), baths and bed time. As my friends like to point out, I'm a lucky girl and knowing I get to spend the rest of my life with this man makes me happy. It makes me almost look forwards to getting old. I said almost...

For the record, I did get the kids' rooms cleaned and purged a massive amount of toys (if you see my daughter, you know nothing). I'll save the border removal - which is going to be a PAIN; I tested the corner of my son's room and it was stuck on, stuck like glue - and painting for another weekend. Maybe that can be a family project. Haha! I crack myself up.

Thank the good Lord for Grandparents!

From this day through the entire weekend, I am childless. Both of my children out of town with their grandparents and I am not quite sure what to do with myself. I’m like a kid in a candy store just thinking about the possibilities. There are about five bajillion projects I would like to tackle but realistically, I would be happy if I could cross just two off the list. What can I say? I am a chronic over-scheduler. It’s what I do. I do it at work, I do it at home… if there was a twelve step program for it, I would put signing up for it on my list of things to do. Ha!

The first thing I need to do is clean out my daughter’s room. That’s absolutely at the top of the list. Ms. Priss has an overabundance of toys she absolutely cannot live without even though she hardly ever touches them. (She's always been more of a play with the remote and mommy's makeup kind of girl.) She’s the same way with clothing and shoes she’s out grown. “But I loooooove it,” she’ll say. Already, at the mere age of 4, she's more than willing to wear shoes that hurt her feet because they're cute. I know, I know; I'm in trouble. When she's not looking, I throw away worn out shoes and bag up toys to take to the mission. Somehow, she catches me every.single.time. This time, the evidence will be long gone by the time she returns. Muah Haha Ha!!

My son’s room could use some work as well. He has less junk but more funk. I guess that’s the norm for a preteen boy but oh.my.goodness does he have to do whatever it is that smells that badly in my house?! Ugh! We received some hand me down furniture from his great-grandfather back a few years ago so I bought him new bedding then but I’ve never repainted and it is way past time for that. There is also a very juvenile looking border with puppies and sports equipment around the top of his walls that needs to go. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to see it gone when he gets home.

Which reminds me that the hall could use repainting as well...

Then there is my hubby who is so excited about some alone time. I don’t want it to sound like I don’t want to spend time with him. Really… I do. But there's so much to do and so little whine free time to do it in. And what I'm really not keen on is the idea of mountain biking with him and his friends on Saturday morning. (I’m still working on getting out of this one.) Biking, I’m fine with. Biking up and down hills, through muddy rivers, around pointy rocks and trees… *Gasp* Do you hear me? TREES! This may not seem like such a big deal to some of you more coordinated people but I'm fairly positive if I'm riding down a hill towards a tree, my body will become a certified tree magnet. And when I do fall off the bike, because let's face it - that's inevitable, I would land on one of those aforementioned pointy rocks. I'll start praying now for rain. Sleeping in sounds sooooo much better.

My entire house could also use a decrapification. It's everywhere. The worst rooms are the kitchen, where mail seems to always pile up no matter how good my intentions, and our music room, which is where junk goes to die.

There's also some small redecorating projects here and there that I have wanted to tackle...

I'm tired just thinking about it. Stay tuned and I'll let you know what actually gets done. I know you're just dying to know.

:)

"A" for Effort

My husband does 90% of our laundry. I *mostly* love this about him. I'm not trying to blow pixie dust up your tailpipe to make you think he was always this awesome; it took having our second child before he realized I was taking on more than I could handle as far as day to day household duties go. We both work full time so I think a more equal split was only fair. I'm glad he agreed. I prefer to do most of the cooking and he doesn't clean to suit me so the laundry was the obvious winner.

"Doing laundry" entails washing, drying and sorting the clothes. Everyone is still responsible for putting up their own clothing which means our 12 year old put his own away (more like he opens his closet door and throws them in) and I put the rest away but I'm not complaining. I'll take what I can get. Last night as I was hanging up a load of dark colors, I ran across one of my new dresses. As in "I just bought it this past weekend and have only worn it once" new. I held it up and sighed. It was at least three inches shorter than it was just a few days ago. "I'm guessing you dried this," I said with an obvious ill tone. I couldn't help it. "How am I supposed to know what gets dried and what doesn't. You should really label that stuff." *Sigh* At this point I'm just giving him "the look" when he adds, "I don't know what the big deal is anyway. You have beautiful legs." Nice try, buddy. I'm still mad, though. Sort of. Okay fine - I'm smiling.

Yeah, he's totally off the hook.

I am NOT his girlfriend!

I have a male co-worker that spends countless unwelcomed hours in my office every week complaining and commenting on everything under the sun – his son’s baseball team, his middle son getting into the school they wanted, and work crap. For anonymity, let us call him “annoying guy”. For the most part, annoying guy is in and out quickly; I politely smile and nod at his stories and then he goes on his merry way. I consider this a win-win. Here lately, however, his stories are becoming more drawn out and frequent. I cannot tell you how many secret eye rolls I give this guy. In my head, I’m saying really, really bad things to him. I may or may not even be secretly flipping him off. When his presence becomes absolutely ridiculous, another co-worker with visual access to my office phones my husband with orders to save me. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see his number pop up on my caller ID. Yeah – I definitely owe that guy one. Or maybe ten.

I promise there is a point to this particular rambling. I will get to that now. At a party this weekend, I learned that I have become known as annoying guy’s girlfriend in our company. The example given to me was “So, does anyone know where annoying guy is?” “He’s probably in his girlfriend’s office again.” UGH!!  This makes my skin crawl! And this is what I get for being nice. My mission this week (and I definitely do choose to accept) is to make him feel completely unwelcomed so that he stays the heck out of my personal space. My strategy has been to not make eye contact, take bathroom breaks when he appears to be heading in my general direction (even if I have to go so often that people think I have the runs) and keep my radio turned up to a volume that is hard to talk over. Check, check, and check. So far today, I haven’t had to talk to him even once. Here’s hoping the rest of the week is just as successful so I can keep my secret flip offs to a minimum.

The Preschool Diva

I could save some serious cash on preschool this year. My four year old knows everything there is to know about, well, pretty much everything. To any statement you could possibly think up, her reply is "I know". She even borders on physic. For instance, we recently received a postcard in the mail from her new preschool teacher welcoming her and letting us know she was going to be in the dinosaur class. (Every classroom takes on a different animal theme and they learn about that animal throughout the year.) As I read it aloud with as much as enthusiasm as I could possibly muster - trust me, it was an impressive, rock solid performance - she nonchalantly replied, "I know". She also knows that shopping and/or ice cream always make you feel better, black goes with everything and boys are stinky. See? I told you. She knows EVERYTHING.

She's my strong willed child; the one I've named all my gray hairs after. She has been insisting on picking out her own clothes since before she was even potty trained and faces the world square on, holding absolutely nothing back. If your hair looks crazy or she doesn't like your outfit, you'll be the first to know. She is our constant reminder of my husband's late grandmother, the one who told me I had good birthing hips in our early dating years. (Oh yes... she did. She was also apparently right.) All of these qualities that sometime drive me crazy are also the reason I am totally in love with this little diva.

We have a few more weeks before she starts to school so I'm trying to mentally prepare. Hmmmmm... Perhaps I should warn her preschool teacher so she can do the same.

Time for a Change

:(



It used to be so easy to turn you on. I knew all the right buttons to push. These days, it seems to be nearly impossible. I’m not sure if you’ve changed or I’ve just forgotten how. When I am able to get you hot and bothered, you spit water at me. What’s that about?! You are ruining my clothes for Pete’s sake! I think it’s time to call it quits. We had a good time while it lasted but you have served your purpose. I’m ready to move on.

Can anyone recommend a good iron?

Product Review - Shampoo for the Golden Years

It all began at the drugstore when I was disappointed to realized my normal brand of shampoo was out of stock. (Yes, the drugstore. I'm cheap like that.) I was desperate and got lured by fancy jargon and promises of highlight activating ingredients. What can I say? It was a weak moment. The fluorescent lights fried my brain. Don't judge me - it happens. And so I picked up a matching set of John Freida Sheer Blonde shampoo and conditioner. Why not? I mean, I'm not technically even blonde but I do get blonde highlights in the summer. That counts, right?

My initial impression was that the shampoo didn't smell the best, but I continued on hoping it would grow on me. When I got to the conditioner, I snarled my nose. Dude... it stunk. Stunk! The smell reminded me of the aerosol can of perfume my grandmother used to buy at Big Lots. (Yes, aerosol. Was my grandmother the only one that wore that crap?) Totally not the way I want my hair to smell. And so, I neatly packed that junk away in the garbage can and promptly took my stinky haired self to the store to buy more shampoo. I give John Freida Sheer Blonde Shampoo and Conditioner two tumbs waaaaay down. This stuff should come with a warning label that you must be at least 65 to use it. I'm beginning to think I've developed a knack for finding stinky products.

Do I have to talk about this stuff?

On the way to the video store last night, my 12 year old son says to me, “Mom, I don’t understand what these are.” He’s pointing to a tampon stashed in the center console of my car. I think at this point I broke out in a cold sweat. “It’s a tampon that women use when they’re on their periods.” Saying this to him makes me cringe, but we’ve already had “the talk” and he’s been learning all of the facts on the matter at school. “I still don’t get it,” he says frowning. Ugh! Sometimes I’d prefer not to have THIS open of a relationship, but deep down I know it’s for the best so I muster up the courage to simply say, “When a woman is on her period, she bleeds.” OhMyGoodness did that just come out of my mouth?! I'm sweating more now. He frowns again; I can tell he’s thinking this one over very carefully. More frowning... more thinking; and then I see the light bulb go off as a look of total disgust comes across his face. “Ewwwwww! That’s disgusting!” he exclaims. You have no idea, son.

“Do you have any other questions for me?”

“No.”

Whew!

What happened to being nice?

Yesterday I came down with one of the worst bugs ever, thanks to my hubby. I know our marriage vows said in sickness and in health, but I’m pretty sure that didn’t mean to share the actual sickness. Every bone in my body ached, I was running a fever, sneezing, coughing… the works. Already behind at work, I drug myself out of bed (shedding a few tears in the process) threw on some clothes, pulled my hair in a pony tail and even managed to apply a little mascara. I looked in the mirror. What I saw wasn’t good, but it would just have to do. I just couldn’t bring myself to put forth any more effort than what I already had. What is the very first thing that was said to me as I walked through the door? “You look sick.” Well thank you, Captain Obvious. I heard a variation of that so many times that by yesterday afternoon I was ready to punch the next person with something smart to say about my appearance or well-being square in the face. But who was I kidding? I didn’t have the energy for that.

This morning, as I was getting ready, I vowed to make myself look at least well enough to nip the sick comments in the bud. I covered up what I could of the dark circles under my eyes and even curled my hair for Pete’s sake! Want to know the first comment I got? “You look tired.”

I freakin’ give up. If I’ve got to feel this bad and still come into work, the rest of you will just have to look at me. So there!

Security!!

Okay, I mean it this time. I’m going to blog again if it kills me. I’ve been MIA for a while. I don’t even know where to begin as to why. Our lives have unfortunately been full of hospitals, nursing homes, and funerals here lately. Not pertaining to anyone in our immediately little family of four, but close enough in relation that it’s hard to pick up and move on after the fact. But don’t worry, I’m not going to blog about that because it’s quite depressing and I’m through with sad stuff for a while. Today, I’m going to blog about the most wonderful hubby I’ve ever had. (Yes, I’ve only been married the one time, but I still think he’s pretty great.)

For Valentine’s Day this year, the plan was that there was no plan. We normally take a little weekend trip, but as I mentioned earlier, things have been a wee bit hectic and it just didn’t seem to be in the cards for us this time around. I came into work the Friday before Valentine’s Day expecting it to be just like any other day. As I turned the corner into my office, I saw a vase of roses, a box of chocolates, and a card. How romantic is that?! The card contained tickets to the symphony and reservations for a hotel room afterward. Woo Hoo! I was excited that I immediately started planning what to pack in my head.

The drive there was great! My husband drove and I read a book. (It’s the little things that make me happy. Can you tell?) It was freezing cold outside so a turtleneck sweater, pencil skirt and hooker boots was the closest thing to sexy that I cared to pull off for our evening’s date. Women were there dressed anywhere from evening gowns to jeans. Some were even down right scandalous in tube top mini dresses and bare legs. I had to wonder if those same women walked to the venue in the same frigid temps I did. I was feeling pretty comfortable since my attire fell somewhere in between the two extremes. As we were waiting to be seated, I noticed the lady in front of us. Perhaps I should say there was no way to miss the lady in front of us. She wore a one-shouldered black mini dress. Her hair was bleached blonde and came down to her waist (extensions I’m assuming) and she had it curled and pulled into a low side pony tail. As she turned around, I noticed she was at least 20 years her date’s junior and I hate to sound petty, but I’m guessing he was rich because they just didn’t quite match, if you know what I mean. She was eyeballing my date but I can’t say that I blame her. He’s a pretty good piece of eye candy if I do say so myself.

The symphony was wonderful. The only downfall was that I was seated next to a young woman who insisted on running her fingernails down the length of a strand of her hair over and over. Hubby suggested I simply ignore it but it literally had the same effect on me as nails on a chalkboard. Despite the fact that I kept giving her the stink eye, she continued to push me to the brink of insanity until after intermission when I swapped seats with my good looking date to let him endure the madness for a while. He didn’t find it so easy to ignore her once he was in my shoes, or rather my seat. Ha!

When we got back to the hotel, we were both hungry but didn’t feel like fighting the young, partying crowd that lingered outside. Instead, we ordered pizza and hubby went down to the lobby to pick it up. As he watched out the door for the delivery, he opened the door for several guests returning to their rooms. (He really goes overboard with the southern hospitality sometimes.) One of the times he did so, three inebriated middle aged walked inside. Hubby said something like “welcome back” and their only reply was “thanks”. A few minutes later, the front desk received a call concerned because when the women arrived to their room to find the door ajar. They requested someone from security come check things out. An elderly man promptly answered the call and returned a few minutes later laughing. Apparently, the women thought my husband was security and made up the whole story so he could come upstairs. I have to give them an 'A' for effort on that one but I do have to wonder what they were going to do with him once he got there…

I’m thinking he may need full supervision from now on.