The Golden Egg

Let's pretend Easter wasn't forever ago.

Let's pretend it just happened and you can't wait

to see how we celebrated.

OK? Perfect. Thanks.

It all started with an empty Easter basket

and the city's annual Easter Egg Hunt.

Now, let me tell you something about this egg hunt.

There is just one egg out there

that is a little more special than the rest.

In these parts,

we refer to it as . . .

The finder of this egg is entitled to a special prize at the end of the hunt.

Now, on this particular day the sun was shining just so and the golden egg was visible from the starting line . . . almost taunting us with its sparkle.

We immediately surveyed . . .

Yikes!

We clearly needed a strategy.

Megan decided she would run straight for the golden egg,

even if it meant leaving behind the other eggs on the way.

She wanted that golden egg.

I have to admit, I wanted it to.

I mean, I wanted her to have it of course!

Then, the organizers announced this ridiculous

rule that you couldn't run. No running at all?

My first inclination was to tell her to run like the wind,

get the golden egg,

then say,

"What? I'm only three.

Helloooooo!

Now where's my prize?"

Except that I'm an adult

and I'm supposed to be mature enough

to do the right thing. Being an adult is

SO LAME sometimes!

So here we are WALKING and picking up eggs.

Oh yeah, and some other kid

ran to get the golden egg.

I told Megan that doing the right thing

feels better than getting the golden egg.

I think she believed me even though I lied.
ha!

But, let's see who got the last laugh.

Whose picture was on the front page

of the newspaper the next day, looking all cute

picking up Easter eggs?

The rule-breaking golden egg stealer?

Nope.

Miss Megan Kate was.

(If you would like a copy, just ask.

I only bought approximately 7366347

copies of the newspaper that day.)

At some point we colored Easter eggs too.

I love the serious look on her face here.

And then we waited for the Easter bunny

to hop on over and deliver the treats . . .

There is more to this story, like decorating the bunny cake and the egg hunt at my parents' house. Perhaps I'll get around to posting that before the Fourth of July rolls around.

He Said, She Said

So John and I were tag team wrestling our son in an attempt to give him medicine. When some dribbled on Brendan's face, John grabbed for a blanket (yes friends, a blanket!) to wipe it off just as I grabbed for an over-priced, disposable wet wipe.


The following conversation ensued . . .


L: (Looking at the BLANKET with wide eyes) I can tell you don't do the laundry!


J: (Looking at the over-priced, disposable wet wipe with wide eyes) I can tell you don't make the money!


Ha, ha! Touche!

A Poopy, Wonderful Day

Dear St. John,

I wish I had more time to write about how awesome you are and how much I love your birthday. Here's kinda how my day has gone so far . . .

This morning as you were leaving for work, I was sharing a nuzzle with Brendan and feeling grateful that you go out into the world everyday so I can stay home. Just when the warm fuzzies were setting in, Brendan leaned in for what I thought was a kiss. Turns out he felt like belching and then followed that up with some spit up . . . right on my lips and chin. Then he pooped all over his diaper and his pajamas and his changing table and later in the morning I even found some on MY pajamas.

Then I remembered I had a doctor's appointment and had to jump in the shower to get ready. Good thing, too, cause I may or may not have been still wearing some of Brendan's poopy. I stepped out of the shower to find our naked daughter dragging my suitcase (which still isn't unpacked from last weekend's trip to Chicago). She said, "Mommy, I'm so sorry I got poop in your suitcase. I hope there is a way we can clean that out of there." What? Turns out she pooped on the potty while I was in the shower and neglected to wipe herself. Then she sat in the suitcase to play rocket ship and voila . . . poop in the suitcase. Fantastic.

Just a little later I took the dog out on her leach and she started chasing a stupid cat . . . thus dragging me across the yard and well, yep, right into a pile of poop. Seriously. That dog honestly hates me and I think she did it on purpose. Regardless, I've had quite a bit of poo poo to deal with this morning . . . all before 10 am.

I'd love to do a post about how wonderful you are when I'm not elbow deep in someone else's excrement. Have a wonderful birthday :)

Your loving wife,

Lisa

P.S. I promise I washed my hands before I made your favorite birthday dinner - spinach/feta/sun-dried tomato stuffed chicken breasts (which, by the way, is slow cooking in the crockpot.) Oh yeah, and your lemon crumb cake filled with homemade lemon cream is also prepared and waiting for you. I don't let a little poop slow me down.

P.S.S. I'm totally in love with you and can't imagine my life any other way. (a little less poop would be nice though)

True Story

Meet Rocky.

(Not an actual photo, duh.)

He was the newest member of our family.

I bought him when my niece Brianna spent the night.

She somehow convinced me she was deprived because she never owned a fish.

When I explained to her I couldn't send her home with a fish without asking her parents for permission, she offered to let this fish live at my house.

I'm a total sucker.

So, like I said, meet Rocky.

He was the newest member of our family.

He lived in Megan's room in his own tank next to Mona.

Then, on Easter morning, I noticed he had bit the dust.

Kicked the bucket.

Bought the farm.

On Easter?

Yes.

On Easter.

So, we did the "usual" when one of our fish dies.

Bury him in the backyard?

Have a little service and say how much we loved him?

Of course not!

John went to the store to buy another one just like him for the old switcheroo.

Here's what happened . . .

(phone rang . . . it was St. John from the store)

And yes, it was open on Easter.

John: They don't have a betta that is blue and red or even anything close to Rocky.

Me: Oh my gosh, are you kidding me? Do they have a plain blue one? A red one? You can't come home until you find a f-i-s-h. It is E-a-s-t-e-r. Oh my gosh. She'll be scarred for life! She'll have nightmares about bunnies and chocolates and d-e-a-d f-i-s-h. (Being ultra careful to spell everything out just in case Megan was listening.) ha!

Then Megan looked at me and condescendingly said,

"Mommy, are you talking about my fish 'cause I really think you should TELL THE TRUTH. He's dead. You should not tell a lie. You should just tell the truth."

(Jaw hit floor . . . )

John came home, life went on, and Rocky got flushed down the toilet.

T-r-u-e s-t-o-r-y.

That Easter Bunny Stole My Money!

That Easter Bunny stole my money!

Well, not really but it sure felt that way.

$19.99 for a picture with the Easter Bunny?

Seriously? You must be joking.

Last year they let you take a picture with your own camera . . .

for free!

This year they looked at me like I had just committed a felony

when I pulled out my own camera.

I should have just taken the picture anyway.

Ha! Can you imagine me running through the mall,

pushing the stroller with one hand,

dragging Megan with the other hand,

and the Easter Bunny chasing me to confiscate my illegally taken photo.

Shoot!

Totally should have done that.

Oh well.

Aren't my babies cute?

Oops, I Did It Again

April Fools!

That wasn't very nice of me, now was it?

Right about now, John is sitting in front of a computer somewhere cleaning up the coffee he just spit all over the place.

Honestly, my oven is currently bun free.

(I better not have just jixed myself!)

I have a personal policy - no new babies until I've worked myself out of the large marge clothing from the last one. Well, guess what . . . I'm still sporting large marge clothing.

I'm seriously afraid my brother is going to yell FREE WILLY when

I swim in my mom's pool this summer. That sounds like something he would do.

So, that reminds me . . . I haven't updated you lately on the weight loss effort. It is not like I haven't been working on it, just haven't had the time to write about it.

I'm down 16 total pounds.

I just make the font bigger there so it seems like more than that.

The truth is, I've been pretty frustrated with the SLOWNESS of the process this time. I feel like it should be more than that by now but I'm not getting discouraged. It is moving in the right direction and that is all that really matters. If you are new to my blog, let me catch you up. I eat like a giant pig when I'm pregnant, leaving me with 60 pounds to get rid of after Megan (I did it!) and 40 pounds to get rid of after Brendan (I'm working on it.)

I'm still doing the crazy hard Biggest Loser Cardio Max workout but I've added Jillian Michaels Banish Fat, Boost Metabolism workout to the mix. That chick is a sadist. Pure evil I tell you!

I also took my measurements. I have a feeling the scale isn't reflecting all my hard work, since I've been working out pretty hard lately. I can feel some renewed muscle. (The only problem is it is buried in there under a cozy layer of chub.) I'm waiting a month to measure again, which will be Monday, April 12. I'll fill you in on how I did then.

I'm writing down my weight, exercise, and weekly goals on paper. It has really been helping me to stay on track. Writing it down makes it more real even if you don't show anyone.

Oh yeah, and I dance whenever possible. I always have a song playing in my head to reflect what I'm doing. (Kinda like when I was uploading that picture of the preg. test, I was singing Oops I Did It Again and dancing around in my chair. Or when I wake up in the morning, sit up in bed, and see John brushing his teeth is his birthday suit I start singing "You're packed and you're stacked, especially in the back. Brother, wanna thank your mother for a butt like that." (Yes, that is honestly a song.) Sing and dance whenever possible. I'm not sure it helps with weight loss but it is kinda fun nonetheless.

Now I have that stupid song in my head.

Go dance!