Short Stories of Family Fun in the City Of Sin

Prime Rib and the Pube........ Day One

You know what is worse than driving 7 hours in the car, with a husband who is fanatic about obeying the speed limit and 3 kids? No, really I am asking, because the only thing I could think of, was adding more kids to that recipe for disaster, and If I could have kissed my IUD, I would have.

When we finally arrived in sunny, sinny, Las Vegas, I stripped off my nasty traveling clothes and stepped into the shower to cleanse away the filthy grime of the day's travel. I say, stripped off my clothes, because I did it slowly, pulled the faces and licked my lips, to see what all the hub bub is about. Hmm...... I guess, I either don't got 'it', or the Cheeto dust rising from my clothes, and my Spawn, banging on the bathroom door, didn't provide the right atmosphere. Damn billboards, got me thinking of a more glamorous, higher paying job, but I guess I will just stick to the gig I have now.

The hotel suite was beautiful, and much nicer than the Travelodge, the Mister and I are accustomed to. (Thanks, Mom and Dad!) The bathroom was monstrous and clean, and as soon as I stepped into the hot water, I could feel the tensions of the day begin to wash off. By the second cycle of Lather, Rinse, and Repeat; I had almost forgiven Emma for the tantrum she threw at the Beaver Truck Stop, which prevented me from purchasing an "I (Heart) Beaver" t-shirt, and Dylan for asking if we were still in Oakley, 45 times.

Just as I was rinsing the last of the suds from my locks, my eyes opened to spy a black, tightly curled donation from the last guest's nether regions, stuck to the ceiling in the shower. I shrieked for Dave to join me, and as he raced in, thinking that I had severed an artery shaving, I gestured towards the offender, and we both giggled while he examined it. We had a lovely time pondering it's owner and the possibilities of how it made it to the ceiling. I decided to abide by the What Happens in Vegas, rule and didn't splash the poor guy into the drain.

After Dave left, I thought it would be funny if, when he showered next, the hair had moved. This came after much debate between disgusting and humorous. Eventually, I reasoned that I was indeed in the shower, and could easily wash my hands after re-arranging the hair. Just as I reached my hand up to the ceiling, Dave opened the door and stepped in with a horrified look on his face. I immediately felt myself go red, and he stammered, "You're touching it??" I explained that I was just repositioning it for his entertainment, and hurried it up with the washing my hands rationale.

Even as I type this, I think, maybe this is what they are talking about, when they say something should "stay in Vegas". Please accept my apology for the anecdote about shower hair, and know deep in your heart that, that hair was the highlight of the rest of my showers in Vegas, and stayed until the very last day, when neither Dave nor I, knew what happened to it.

NEXT, we went to the buffet.

After everyone was settled, showered, and ready for some excitement we,(My Dad, Hannah, and SIL, Mallory, plus my crew) hit the South Point Casino for dinner. Dawson was in Meat Heaven, and since we were on vacation, our dietary standards were a little lax, and we let the kids eat what they wanted. Dawson filled his plate with prime rib, and fish, Dyl ate strictly cantaloupe, and Emma just walked around, taking bites of everyone else's. Quickly enough, they discovered the dessert bar, and just filled up on that weird, fake ice cream.

On the way out, Dawson showed us the "Twins". Earlier, while we were getting settled, my Dad had taken the kids through the casino, to get to the game room. They passed the bar, where two cocktail waitresses were filling their orders and Dawson got the attention of Gran-pa Ranny, and said, "Hey, Look! Twins!" My Dad told us they were probably fraternal twins, since one was Chinese, but from Dawson's line of vision, they looked identical from the thong down. We may have to have, "The Talk" sooner rather than later.

Gran-pa Ranny

Dawson learned his lesson about buffet style restaraunts on Day One.



A whole week of sun ahead of us and it feels so good!

Half Marathon Training Update

I ran for the second time on Saturday, since receiving the, 'Watch of All Running Watches. My training schedule recommends running 3-4 times per week, but it doesn't really take into account a 3 year old daughter, and living in the Arctic. Yes, those are the excuses I am going to use. Emma, and her training wheels are not able to keep up with my wicked fast times, and certainly I should not chance hurting myself, by running in the snow. Besides, the race isn't until August.

Saturday morning, I moistened my chest strap, squeezed into my running tights, hoisted my watch/time machine onto my wrist, and made a big deal of wandering around the house repeating loudly how I was just about to "go for a run." Eventually Dawson said, "So go already." And Dave gave me that blink, blink, smirky-ass blink, when I casually mentioned to him, in my best 'Old Western' voice, that I would prolly just try and get in like 3 or so miles.......

Dawson refused to join in the fun with me, so I cued up my Ipod, gave the Boys a nod, and bounced down the driveway and out into the fields, with only The Notorious B.I.G for company. The sun was shining, the birds chirping, my ponytail swinging, it was beautiful. Almost instantly, my watch started alerting me that my heart rate was in the third zone, whatever the crap that means. I can't figure out how to un-program my time machine not to alert if my pulse goes above 100. Really any movement causes my pulse to rise, but the constant beeping really gets me T.O'd.

It wasn't long, maybe a tenth of a mile from home, when my pelvis started making some freaky noises. Thursday, at volleyball I suffered from an unintentional, and extremely unflattering bout of the Chinese Splits. I leaned forward for the ball, lost traction and before I knew it, both feet were flying fast and furious in opposite directions. Soon enough though, my pelvis brought them to a halt, as it bounced off the floor, and thrust me forward onto my face. Besides my dignity, and some bruising to my pubic bone, I thought I had escaped the incident unscathed. Apparently not, but the noises subsided as the alerts from my watch, and the volume of Lil Biggie Smalls increased.

By about seven tenths of a mile, I was a Sweaty Mutha, and every fifth step or so, I would burp up a bit a sausage patty, or piece of french toast, which would remind me it's not a great idea to indulge in a large weekend brunch before a "big run." I pushed past it though, and made myself sprint the last tiny way to a mile, and then nearly collapsed on the fence post.

Whew! I heaved the watch into view, and...get ready for it- my mile time was 12:48. Shizz. I looked up from the watch, and straight into the face of a cow. "Moo." I was bummed. I couldn't help thinking the only thing separating myself from the lazy Heifer was that she was currently lactating, and I can only use the, 'I just had a baby.' excuse around people that don't know my "baby".

I walked most of the way back home. My calves hurt like a sonnabitch, the birds were annoying the hell out of me, and I was so looking forward to reporting my sweet time to Daveskins. The final blow came when I limped onto the driveway and stopped my watch. I think I set a new personal record. For a distance of two miles, my time was 25 minutes. That time is lame in and of itself, but when I remembered that my first mile was running, and I did it in 12:48, that means I ran a mile equally as fast as I walked/limped a mile back home. Super.

At work yesterday, I gave the update to Abbie, who instantly praised my efforts, clapped me on the back, and told me how incredible I was. I love Abbie. She makes me feel like Marion Jones, (pre-doping allegations). I know in my heart she is just one of those people who, to borrow a phrase from one of my fav reality stars, "probably shits rainbows", but she does it so personally, that I totally buy it.

So with my pep talk from Abbie, my super awesome watch on the charger, a Costco bottle of Ibuprofen, and nothing but miles of cows to run in front of, I am ready for my next run.

I'm thinking sometime next week.......

I got a speeding ticket this morning. 55 in a 30, but reduced to "9 over" on account of the Officer, "Not really being able to overlook 20+ miles, but not wanting to spoil my day." Usually a ticket means serious tsk tsking from my Holier-Than-Thou-Never-Had-A-Ticket-Husband.

Not today! I practically skipped into the garage and entered into our ritual, 'How much do you love me, because I just cost us a grundle in insurance and I might lose my license unless I go to traffic safety school' conversation.

Daveskins has been in Jackson Hole all last week for work, and just returned yesterday. Although we are still in the Honeymoon stage of his return, I could tell he was winding up for a big lecture. Oh, how lovely it was to push my index finger to his lips and offer a quiet, "Shhhh. I don't even want to hear it. You can save your piety for a time when you didn't bring home illegal fireworks from Wyoming." And then, as a family, we celebrated his long awaited return with some Bottle Rockets, Black Cats, M-80's, and some Snaps for Em.

What Do I Push To Talk?

We were all in the garage today, getting ready for a bike ride, when the phone rang. There is an old green corded phone hanging on the wall of the garage, and I told Dawson to run and grab it. I heard him pick it up, and then saw him dancing around with the receiver. He was all panicked, looking at the phone, and started yelling, "What do I push to talk?"

It never occurred to me that he might not have any experience with a non-cordless phone. Man, do I feel old.

Where's The Beef

Dinner time, at our house, is like standing at the brink of the sanity crevice. Some days, we teeter and fall of the edge, into the dark abyss, and the Hoodlums end up going to bed at 7:00. And we end up cranking the t.v. up, to drown out the wails off, "But Mom, it's still light outside."

Fewer days, it goes off without a hitch, and they get to stay up until 7:30.

I am sure our dinner woes, are not uncommon. We have, a Complainer, which falls to Dawson. The second he gets home from school, he inquires as to our dinner plans. I could tell him we are having Hot Fudge Sundaes, with gummy bears, and rainbows, and I would still get a, "Waa!" It is not that he is picky, none of them are, it is just a reflex for him. Often his complaint, is that he had the exact same meal for school lunch. I swear I don't look at the school lunch menu, in a moment of panic at 4:30 and decide to have, Stacked Ham, Tossed Salad, Peaches, Cookie, and Milk..........

I swear.

"Sticks" a.k.a Dylan, aptly nicknamed by my brother-in-law for his lankiness, is the kid that doesn't eat. He also is not picky, but just doesn't have the fortitude or desire to pick up a utensil. We can eat an entire meal, by the time he is on his second bite. He keeps us entertained, with recess and bus anecdotes, but still continues to weigh less than his little/bigger sister. Sometimes we are surprised, and he will finish his dinner in order to get some form of dessert. He can eat in normal mode, and even hyper-speed, if the Glycemic index is high enough on the dessert. He spends so much energy on negotiating how many more bites he has to eat, that we are all exhausted by the time he finishes.

Emma started out a great eater, but has since come under the ever potent spell of her own reflection. In a Mine! Mine! Mine! home like ours, where everyone stops just short of urinating on our staked territory, Emma has commandeered the seat at the bar, right next to the ovens. That is HER chair, for any given meal, coloring, or any activity at the bar. The downside is that she can't take her eyes off of herself. (Vanity, obviously a genetic hand-me-down from her Father, who also can't pass by a reflective surface without being entranced.) Last night, she primped and flirted with herself right through dinner. I thought she was completely oblivious to the rest of us, but as Dave and I were cleaning up, she was singing to herself, "Dannimals Crush Cups are so good, but fish tacos are not so good." I thought she had no idea what I had been giving her bites of, but I guess her beauty was a good enough distraction, that she could stomach the fish tacos.
There is only one meal, that makes dinner time go off without a hitch. Each of them have their favorite food, but all 3 Hoodlums love ribs. Every so often we have one meal, that makes Dawson tell me it was "Bone-apa-TEET!" Dylan will eat his weight in pork, and Emma can tear herself away from....herself, long enough to devour some poor animal's torso. Tonight was lovely.

Snow....Blows.

Ugh. Just yesterday we were running through the fields, in t-shirts. Grass was peaking out from the melting snow, and life was good. Then in one 12 hour period we get 12 more inches. At least Dyl is having a great time. He doesn't have Kindergarten on Fridays, so he got to play in the snow with Dave. They had a great time, and dang if they aren't handsome too.

On Your Mark...

It came two days ago. I noticed the big brown Amazon box, as I limped in the door from work on Monday night. My heart sank. I am now the proud owner of the Garmin Forerunner 205/305. It is a tiny, lightweight, GPS, running watch. By tiny,and lightweight, of course I mean, when I can get someone to spot me, while I heave it onto my wrist, once strapped, it even makes my thighs look petite.

I caught the running bug in Phoenix, from Abbie. I have decided to train for some races this summer, and hopefully do a half marathon in August. Dave has been less than supportive, pointing out that I am doing a lot of talking about training, and not so much actual running. I tried to explain to him, that obviously I can't run without a watch like Abbie's, and I didn't want to spend extra money to expedite the shipping, so duh.

And at last it came........

In order to wipe the smirk off Dave's face, I buttered up the Boyz to train with me. Lately they have been enjoying a game, where they sprint continuously around the couch in the toy room, and Dave fires the football at them as they round the corner, then they fire it back on the flip side. They run at full speed, often as long as 30 minutes, until at last, one of them drops to the ground in exhaustion. Sometimes this drags on for awhile, since the first one to give up, has to announce his brother as, The Champion, and that is not easily done. I figured if they can sprint that long, they should easily be able to cover a 5k with me.

So when they walked in the door, I was ready to roll. Dawson kept interrogating me about the race. I can't just tell him we are going to do a Fun Run, and he will get a t-shirt. He has to know the specifics. Are their other kids? Will there be traffic? Am I sure they will have his size t-shirt? What is the terrain like? What day of the week will the race fall on? Will it interfere with his summer plans? It is exhausting. My heart rate monitor was already beeping out of control before we even left the garage. All Dyl cared about was if he could have a Jolly Rancher when we got home, and did he actually have to tie his shoes for this.

Dave was smirking his little face off as we prepared to leave the driveway. He has offered to be at one of the water stations during the race this summer with my 44 ouncer of Diet Coke, and perhaps I will take him up on it.

The first mile was great. The Boyz ran alongside of me, and we talked about their day at school, and who caused trouble on the bus ride home. Dyl kept asking me if I had brought anything to eat. In his defense, he probably noticed the size of my new watch and thought I had packed an overnight bag. Their energy deteriorated quickly after the first mile, and by the time we met Dave and Em walking to meet us, I was packing Dyl on my back. Note to self: Next time, they will ride their bikes.

It was oh so warm this afternoon, somewhere in the high 40's and it felt glorious. We spent the rest of the afternoon throwing the football, and watching the Hoodlums race down the driveway.


Running or no, I cannot freaking wait for summer.