Out like a lamb

I can hardly believe March is over already. I started and finished my first boot camp session. (and I lost around 5 pounds in the process.) My baby turned 4 with a whirlwind party with all his friends. I read four books. I did some work. I played hours of baseball. We cheered for the Brewers and their winning spring training. And I watched a lot of soccer. I'm not quite sure which part of that was the lion and which was the lamb.

Am I standing on my head?

Today nothing is as it is supposed to be. I was supposed to go to the doctor to get my broken abs checked out. Except my car wouldn't start. And Beerman's cell was dead. So I re-scheduled my appointment for Thursday, since my doctor still isn't back from India (and I decided if I'm going to have to reschedule anyway, I might as well see my own doctor). And then I was supposed to pay my latest installment of property taxes. Except apparently I paid LAST year's amount instead of this year's amount, so they fined me and made me pay the whole reamining amount due plus a stupid fine. (Fine. I screwed up and paid the wrong amount. But seriously? I was $13.83 short by paying a number that was coincidentally exactly the same as last year's amount. So apparently that's worth an $80 fine and requirement to pay the remaining amount instead of in another installment to drag this out. Seriously? It's not like I was trying to skip out on my taxes. I was $13.83 short to a tune of what was EXACTLY last year's payment! When the lady got snotty upon my arrival and sneered, "You can pay whatever amount you want, because you're being fined." I just smiled, sighed, and said, "I'll pay what I owe if you'll tell me what that is" Seriously, why get so bent out of shape over $13.83? If they had phoned to tell me that initially, it would have been a lot cheaper and easier for everyone, but I guess that's too much to ask these days. Apparently this kind of crap is what my taxes go toward. I hate this village.) Then I got to work. Where I'm supposed to use my ID badge to go everywhere. Except I left it in the car that wouldn't start that I then had Beerman drive so I can pick C-man up tonight because secretly I'm afraid the car won't start again. The good news of my day? I didn't have to wake up at 5 a.m. to go to boot camp, and got to leisurely sleep in for another hour. Had I known what the day was to turn into, though, I probably would have stayed home all day and watched Twilight again (I broke down and bought it. What am I, like 14?)

Ow!

Boot camp part 1 is over. My first three weeks are done. Now I have to show up at 4:00 this afternoon and get re-weighed, measured, body fat-ed and photographed. I know it's only been 3 weeks, but I'm going to be really depressed if I don't show some improvement. (Co-workers have commented, so I'm hoping they're being truthful, and not just trying to be nice). Then again, Beerman claims my strategy is all wrong. He has been giving me tips all morning on how to retain water. His theory is to look like I'm really struggling, and then chew a bunch of Copenhagen right before the last weigh-in to dehydrate myself completely and end up looking like a huge superstar. While sound in logic, I don't think I can go through with it. I'm really thankful for the 2 weeks "off" because my abdomen is killing me. I have an appointment Monday morning to check this out, because I can't even sneeze without yelping. This had better not be a hernia or I'm going to be really depressed. ******************** C-man just sat down next to me and said, "Can we talk, Mom?" Supressing a giggle, "Sure, C-man. What do you want to talk about?" Very seriously now with his new Bernie Brewer doll in hand, "How the Brewers are so much better than the stinky Cubs." "Absolutely, C-man. Absolutely." I love 4.

Day's Details

It's just too cold and windy out to do anything outside. Harry is giving me the evil-est eye he can muster about that. So after my sleep-in (which felt like a slice of heaven) we spent the morning at soccer practice. The coach had the kids AND parents play sharks and minnows today. Beerman graciously got up to play and let me stay seated.

You'll notice he's moved from white socks (so very bad guy Chicago Storm) to blue socks (good guy Milwaukee Wave).

Then we ate lunch at Miller Park. People must have spring fever, because that place was packed. This was as close as we could get to the field, since it was all gated off. But never fear, we made up for it with a trip to the new and improved store to get a Bernie Brewer doll to go with his 5 sausage and 1 baseball doll. I really wanted a zip-up sweatshirt, but I wasn't willing to fork out the $80 for it.Wow, you're blown away by the excitement that is my life, aren't you?

Completion

I guess this week is about finishing some things. Jury duty is over. My guilt about him being guilty has set in. Not because he wasn't guilty, because according to the law he was, but because he is so young (18) and it's just so stupid to go to prison because he got caught with a measley $20 worth of crack. Stupid, stupid, stupid. This kid will never be able to get financial aid, public housing assistance, a respectable job... all because at 18, his second drug charge = felony. Just kind of a slap in the face reminder of what poverty really means... My first round of bootcamp finished today. Now I get a 2-week hiatus, in which I have to work out on my own, before I go back to someone else torturing me. Which is a good thing, because I felt a not-so-good type of ripping in my lower abdomen near my c-section scar. I'm going to get to the doctor next week to make sure it's not a hernia. But the 2 weeks of rest is going to be helpful, regardless. And C-man's birthday festivities are completely over. All the pottery was fired and delivered to his friends with the thank you notes signed by C-man. Big exhale. Enjoy your weekend!

Juror #24

I am living my dream. Now I have to figure out how to become the foreperson to make it complete! ****************** So I had the opportunity to be foreperson, and I passed. At the end of the day, I didn't want to have to tell a 19 year old kid he was guilty after we deliberated for a total of 20 minutes. In the end, it was his second conviction, so that constitutes as a felony in this state. What a mess.

Jury Duty - Take Day 1

I'm sitting. A lot. And of course, an old guy named Tom decided to make me his best friend in spite of my best airplane don't-talk-to-me-I'm-not-listening moves. So far I've learned that he was in the Army, went to Vietnam, has lived in St. Francis since 1978 in the house his in-laws built, is retired from AT&T, did a lot of work with the 911 system, installed Jeffrey Dahmer's phone, and likes to look over my shoulder to try to do my crossword puzzle for me. Except he's not very good at them. "Lecherous look. Hmmm... That could be a lot of things." No, Tom, it's 4 letters and starts with L. That would be "leer". When I put it away with 2 left undone, he actually said, "Wait, I wasn't done!" And eating an Altoid probably wouldn't be a bad idea for him. When his name got called, I was mischeviously pleased. This is so much cooler in the movies. ************* 1:05 p.m. update: I've gotten through the courtroom doors and am in the process of getting questioned. (I'm out for lunch right now, so it's not like I'm doing this in the middle of questioning, although they have said they've had trouble with people tweeting during trial - can you even imagine?) My dream of being a juror is so close, I can taste it! Whoot! ************* 5:53 p.m. update: I'm juror 24 on a criminal case. Back again tomorrow to live the dream.

Life of Riley

On May 4, 2002, we went to Indiana pick out a new puppy for my birthday. And despite wanting a two dark-eared brown-eyed dog (I would learn that he would come later), I ended up with an all white-headed one-brown one-blue eyed Kleenex stealer, because, well, he picked me. Seriously, he did. He relentlessly followed me around until I picked him up and declared he'd be mine. And there began our Life with Riley. Relentless, unpredictable, and full of thievery. Once we were home, we slept on the floor for weeks to help him adjust. We read books, took him to puppy classes and went to the dog parks daily. Everything we did and thought about involved this little puppy. Because after all, he was our first baby. Through the years, we spent an unmentionable amount of dollars on obedience training. In spite of this, he still swallowed countless socks, dishrags, and underwear. He underwent countless hours of grooming (and groomers) and still licked his legs raw (which is how we later ended up with Harry). After 3 tries, we finally found a solid daily dogwalker because we didn’t want to leave our baby alone. At around a year, we invested a ridiculous amount of money on a doggie shrink an animal behavioralist, because he was an aggressive teenager. As a result, instead of doing what any normal household would do, we ended up buying whole organic cows, a new meat grinder, and fish and flax seed directly from North Dakota growers and spent ridiculous late-night hours making him the raw diet. He barked whenever we even thought about going in the pool. He howled at the coffee grinder, the Saturday noon whistle, and the answering machine. He was completely neurotic in the car, barking until our ear drums bled. He suckled blankets, and if you weren't looking where you were going, you'd step on a soggy one, making your sock all wet and squishy. He stole food (whole loaves of bread at a time, plastic wrapping included) off the counter like it was his business. He threw up his socks/rags/rocks/toys/God-knows-what on a regular basis all over the carpet. (We went through two carpet cleaners in the process). When he wanted to play, he would relentlessly push a toy in your face until you'd give in. He could and would boss Harry around with a mere look, and continued to do so even during his last minutes at home. In other words, he did whatever the hell he wanted, absolutely whenever he wanted, and nobody was able to convince him otherwise. But he could run like the wind without tiring, and catch a Frisbee in the air no matter how high or recklessly you threw it. His herding skills were so intrinsic, we always felt it was a shame he didn’t have a sheep nearby. When he was naughty, you'd just have to point at his timeout spot (the bathroom), and he'd hang his head and walk in and sit down. He taught Harry how to be a dog and how to play play, and to stop being the cowardly, abused dog we met him on that sunny, May, South Dakota day. Riley’s kisses were gentle and sweet and kind and so very genuine. He loved to lay at your feet and sigh his loud, satisfying sighs. His hair was fine and soft and beautiful. When we brought C-man home the first time, he treated the new baby with reverence and protection. When Beerman was away on a work trip, he would stand guard at the front door, letting no one even think about coming inside with his big white head and low, loud "WOOF!". And he was smarter than any dog I’ve ever known, and you knew it with certainty through his eyes. Because his two-colored eyes were certainly never dog-like. (I always suspected he was actually a person trapped in a dog's body, like an old fairy tale.) He had an incredible sense of pack order and obeyed it without condition. And he loved us and wanted nothing more than to be with us, with his paws of ownership on us, protecting us. It's been almost 8 weeks without him now. And to talk about Riley in the past tense has taken some getting used to. I'm not sure it'll ever seem right. I still tend to grab two bowls to fill at dinnertime. Beerman and I are always going to harbor the physical scars on our body from his rebellious teenage years. And I don't even want to think about the amount of money we spent on him and his craziness. Because it was never about that. It was about his loud groans as he'd settle in for a nap. Or his big pink belly with little black freckles that would lay exposed to the world as he slept upside down. Or his unadulterated excitement over getting a chunk of the stinkiest salmon we could find for dinner. Or how he insisted on sitting under the table while we ate. (Harry has now taken over that position of honor, leaving Beerman with the understanding that he'll never be able to ever sit with his feet in front of him during a meal). Or how even on three legs, was strong enough to pull any vet tech over. Or how he'd stretch his head and neck up in glee as you scratched his snout. (Oh, how he loved the snout scratch). It was about how he hated when I sang to him (I'm not kidding, he'd actually get up and walk away after a loud protesting groan). Or how he happily howled that low bass howl in concert with Harry's high-pitched soprano whenever he got the chance. Or those soft, sweet, cool ears that I could never give enough kisses. Whenever I see a picture of him, it's those the very most of all. Today would have been Riley’s 7th birthday. It was such a short but amazing life. And while he was so special to us, it was incredible how many people were so touched by his life. The numerous cards and letters and emails we got from so many after his passing were a bit overwhelming, but so touching. We miss you a lot, buddy. I think about you every single day. Because there will never be another crazy, loveable, best friend quite like you. I still expect to see your giant, fluffy head waiting at the door when I get home at night. And somehow, I think you still are.

What's holding you back?

So during torture session, take week 3, the woman who leads this craziness asked us to identify what is holding us back from pushing further in our fitness goals. Um, I think I'm going to go with "my body that is dragging on the ground" on that one.

The day after

These are things I've learned this weekend:

• Chances are the "good" kids are the ones whose parents will stay behind. There is a reason those other parents escape in a mad sprint with evil laughs trailing behind them! (A couple exceptions, of course)
• I cannot keep my hands off cake. I have many weaknesses, but that is my kryptonite. I've begged Beerman to throw it out, because I'm just too weak to do it myself without putting my bare hands in it and scooping it out like a desperate, famished child. When I said earlier in the week that ice cream was second to bbq ribs, I was mistaken. Ice cream is third, after CAKE and then bbq ribs.
• After just two ass-kicking weeks of boot camp, I woke up this morning, threw down a protein shake a la Rocky and his raw eggs, and went for a run with Harry... because I felt like it. Huh?!?
• Harry can run! (We always made fun of him before because we only had Riley, the king of digging deep and running like the wind, to compare him to. But wow, Harry's a good runner! As long as you're aware when he's going to totally put on the breaks to sniff something tasty.)
• Planning a party for thirteen 4 year olds is a lot of work. I feel like I'm hungover today. But at least C-man is having a kick of a time playing with his ridiculously large haul.

I have a very happy 4 year old

He started the morning with new racetracks.

And moved on to his party at the paint-your-own-pottery place. He chose to paint (big surprise) a baseball bat and ball.

Blowing out the candles...

I'll spare you a photo of the obscenity that was his haul of gifts. People were incredibly generous. (But where are we going to put all this stuff?!?) Suffice it to say, turning 4 is a great time in this little man's life.

I love this age so much. He's so smart and still so very 4. It's the perfect combination of cuteness I could just eat up. Kind of like his face after making the birthday brownies on Thursday...

Just eat him up. Yum!

Pre-Birthday Preparation

The pottery painting party place is booked, the non-RSVPing parents are tracked down (good thing, because 10 of them were planning on coming!), the cake ordered, treat bags assembled, birthday gift is purchased, and today's brownie treats are made (and I actually remembered to take them to school). T-1 day to 4 years old, and I think I've got everything covered except calling the pizza place with an order. He really wanted brownies for today's preschool treat. So we made them. This morning he recited his entire recipe in the correct amounts to his babysitter. Apparently baking is really fun for him. (Just in case I didn't notice that during his overexuberant egg cracking). Once I'm not so lazy, I'll have to upload the funny photos of Mr. Chocolate Face licking the spoon. TGIF and Gooooooooooo, Goooooooooo, Go! Marquette! Go! Go! Go! Go!

I am not above bribery

I've had a babysitter coming at an ungodly early hour of the morning to be around while C-man sleeps and I go to torture myself boot camp. He was really upset that he wasn't going to have me or Beerman wake him up. So I bribed him. Our deal was if he woke up, ate his breakfast, didn't cry, and talked to the babysitter nicely, I'd get him ice cream after school. Behold, last night's dinner. (Beerman is going to kill me). PS - I didn't have any. Which is ENORMOUS restraint on my part, because I consider ice cream to be second on the goodness scale only to bbq ribs.

Leapfrogging

Remember when you were a kid and playing leapfrog was really funny? Yeah, not so much fun once you're old. My body wants to die. And it probably would if it only had the strength. The good news is I stepped on the scale (I wouldn't have otherwise, but hearing "don't step on the scale for 3 weeks because your body retains the water for muscle building and won't be accurate" is just an invitation to do it!) Anyhow, I'm down a full 3 pounds, which is pretty nice. "Bikini" has been my mantra of the week.

Happy 17th!

17 years ago today, I sat huddled next to a monitor at the nurse's station, listening to you being born. Hearing your dad get so excited, and then watching him bounce out of the room on his toes shouting, "It's a boy!" Happy birthday, buddy. Enjoy your first R-rated movie. :-) PS - The tutu picture was soooo tempting. ************************** For everyone else, I'd wish you a Happy St. Patrick's Day, but I'm not Irish. So have a good one.

Living like I mean it

Apparently the Dept of Tourism has announced a new slogan for the state of Wisconsin - "Live like you mean it". Now, I'm not quite sure what that means for tourism to this state, or why the logo has a guy standing on his hands. (But at least it's better than the last ridiculous slogan - "Life's so good"). This morning, I guess 'living like I mean it' meant wind sprints, mountain climbers, and some torturous exercises with heavy medicine balls. 6-pack, here I come! ****************** Beerman took a picture of my new scarf this weekend, but I forgot to get it off my camera. So here's a shot of me wearing it while sitting on my ball in my cubicle. And yes, I got my hair lightened last week Tuesday and only 2 people have noticed. So much for that $100.

****************** We invited 17 kids to C-man's upcoming birthday party. So far, 5 have RSVPed. Seriously? How much stinking cake and pizza am I supposed to order? It's bad enough when we go to all these other kids' parties with gifts in hand, and you get totally ignored and the gift you brought never even gets acknowledged. (Or even worse, when the parents are asked to stay for a party on a hot July day and never offered even water). But to not RSVP less than a week out? Rude.

Happy Sunday!

We let Beerman sleep in. Harry decided it would be best to spend it at the dogpark doing great things like this...Meanwhile, C-man had fun smashing the thin ice like a meat eating dinosaur.

Pi Day

Beerman proudly declared today is Pi Day. Get it? it's 3.14? Anyhow, I celebrated Pi Day by not getting up at 5 a.m. to get run through the torture mill and instead getting a massage after soccer and errands. I'm thinking I might celebrate Pi Day every year like this.

Let's hear it for Friday!

Holy balls, it's Friday. Today, I jump roped for the first time since at least high school. And I learned that hurricane does not mean a sugary drink made in a dirty city wiped off the face of the map by a calamity of the same name, but is really something much more hellish. I'm walking around with only minor quad pain, which is a huge improvement from the last few days. One week down. Only 14 more to go. In the interim, the weekend is going to be a slow one. Soccer practice, grocery shopping with my new obsessive lifestyle in mind, toilet cleaning, laundry, and Candyland.

No dunking or hanging on the rims

I'm obsessed with my new fat camp lifestyle. I tend to get this way with things. I dive all in so that I can accomplish a goal. No pussy footing around for me. If you ever see me pussy footing, it's an I'm-just-not-into-this moment. And I'm all into this. Let me 'splain. Yesterday, I found myself perversely actually enjoying the pain. I don't like running, or squats, or v-sits (all done with weights), but it HURTS. And I like it. (Okay, I still swear under my breath a lot about all the cardio crap). I also received my customized nutrition plan yesterday. It was attached with an email from this incredibly buff but sweet woman who runs this thing that said, "You have lots of room for improvement on your eating (that is my tough love talking)". I laughed so hard I had tears. She thought she was being offensive. When Beerman looked at my 3-day food diary before I turned it in he incredulously said, "Are you really going to turn THAT in?!" You see, it's because it included fried cheese sticks, french fries, beers, and chicken pot pie! 4 days of fat camp are down. And I'm powering through it by focusing on the signs posted throughout the high school gym. I think I've read them each a gazillion times. But look out people, body under construction!

Happy Birthday Sweetcheeks!

Wordless Wednesday - Happy Harry

Happy Wordless Wednesday!

Hell - Take 2

Today was day 2 of fat camp. It focused on legs and abs. I didn't almost pass out today. Which was my goal. Can you tell I'm setting expectations WAY low right now? "Get through it and don't pass out" has become my mantra. Which is about as good as it gets, considering right now I can't move my legs without assistance from my hands. I gagged down a half of a protein shake before going, which I know helped in the "not passing out" part. But wow, are those things awful! I mean, everything is nasty at 5 a.m., but a protein shake has got to be near the top of the list of grossness. Bleh! But as the woman who leads this nightmare said the other day, "Do you want a fat ass or do you want to complain?" Yeah, yeah, I got it.

I have a muscle there?

Today was boot camp day 1. I almost passed out. And I have to go back again tomorrow. I went and got myself in deep on this one.

Randomness

Nothing like a 10 bullet points to keep you engaged.

• The thought of starting fat boot camp scares the hell out of me. Why on earth am I doing this? Oh yeah, because I "won". This is one of those moments when I'm convinced God is telling me something. And I'm pretty sure it's to stop being fat. So here I go.
• This rain is making my hands look like the Pillsbury dough boy's hands. I currently can wear no rings, and if you were watching me type, you'd laugh.
• Should I get bangs? I really want to change my hair style. But with it being a curly mess, it makes it hard. Sigh.
• I really miss Riley. I still tear up about it once in a while. Part of me thinks it's crazy, because he was "just" a dog. But he was my dog. And I miss him a lot.
• I am currently knitting two scarves. They should be done just in time for spring.
• I need to hire someone to do my laundry for me. The thought of all that bending and lifting and carrying is not in the cards today. Let's hope boot camp helps me with this.
• The Iditarod starts today. Despite some of the claims of dog abuse, I am curiously facinated with it. And it's WAY better than a "snow machine" race across Alaska.
• My orders for herbs, vegetables and plants goes in this week. I am SOOO happy about that.
• If C-man sneaks into the bathroom one more time to fill up the sink and splash the water everywhere, I'm going to lose it.
• I love ginger tea

It wouldn't be a weekend without a soccer update

Fat Camp

There was a contest running for a 12-week intensive training, nutrition, kick your ass sort of thing. So in 150 words or less, you had to describe your mind-body-spirit needs. Well, apparently sob stories win, because I just got notice that I'm in. It's a $1300 fat camp program I get for free. Perfect, right? Well, this is my life, and it's at 5:45 every morning. Which alone isn't a problem, except Beerman has travel time coming up, and I can't leave C-man alone with just Harry to watch him. Sigh. Beerman's job is REALLY starting to get in the way of my life. Anyhow, tomorrow afternoon is the fat camp kickoff, so I'll learn more. And then I'm going to start wracking my brain to figure out who I can beg to help me with C-man on the mornings Beerman is gone. Because, damnit, fat camp is a dream of mine, and I didn't even have to flash for it.

Five Friday Favorites

Gabriel Allon Daniel Silva's series about an Israeli spy. There's a new man in my life, and his name is Gabriel Allon.

Laura Mercier Flawless Face Mega-Moisturizer lotion I had cracking skin on my face, it was getting so dry. A few days of this magic, and it was back to being better than before.

Yes to Tomatoes Mud Conditioner No hormone mimicing parabens, no cancer causing sodium laurel sulfate, and the best part - it works!

Tazo Cucumber White Tea

Lifeway Kefir in Pomegranate We get the individual 12-packs from Costco. 6 strawberry. 6 pomegranate. Beerman laughs because I steal all the pomegranate ones first. I just like them better. I've found that when I drink one each morning, I feel a whole lot better.

Dancing at my mailbox

I'm a total civics nerd. I've always love the makeup of governments. What they can and can't do. Why they're different in other places. What role they play in our lives. I love voting. I love the campaign season (although got WAY the hell out of running campaigns after I did that for a bit). I even got a degree in the study of governments. So put that together, and you can still hear my squeals of glee when I arrived at my mailbox and saw the giant black letters on the little white envelope that said... "Jury Summons". Whoot! Happy dance. Whoot! When I immediately called Beerman, he congratulated me because he knows how completely green with jealous envy I was when he got to do it last year, and then said, "Just don't tell them you're happy about this, or you won't get picked." Apparently it's not normal to be this excited.

Wordless Wednesday - Blue Eyed Boy

Wordless Wednesday

Cookies + Kids = I'm a sucker

I really, really love cookies. There is little in this world in terms of food I would choose over a good cookie. Add a little kid with beady, pleading eyes into the mix, and you've got a Girl Scout Cookie drive recipe for disaster sitting on my desk.I got 5 boxes of cookies delivered to my desk today. Cookies I don't even remember ordering. But apparently did in a moment of weakness. I don't even like the Girl Scouts. I dropped out of Brownies after a year because even at the tender age of 6, I knew that macrame, decoupage, and stupid songs about smiles in my pocket just weren't my thing. I mean really, I worked for the Boy Scouts for years. But the worst part of it all? I gave up chocolate for Lent. (Yes, I am doing other stuff, too, but chocolate is hard for me, and it makes me remember that it's Lent) So here I sit with boxes of tempting little tasty treats on my desk, and can't do anything about them. Guess I should go find them a nice little home other than in front of me, staring at me with their beady little, chocolate-laden, calorie-filled eyes.

The making of homemade vanilla extract

I read that you can make homemade vanilla extract pretty easily. Since that's right up my alley, I began to read up on it. All vanilla extract really is, is vanilla beans extracted into a clean spirit (rum or vodka). Some recipes add a bit of sugar to intensify the flavors. (I'm not sure if I'll be doing that, but don't have to decide until the end anyhow.) So being our house, we are doing a little experiment. Vanilla extract you buy in the store is 35% alcohol, or 70 proof. It's at that percentage so a boozehound doesn't use it as his source of pleasure. I think it's also so it doesn't have to be regulated as booze. Anyhow, we are trying ours at about that (cloudy one on the left), and then one that's double that which we'll later dilute (clean looking one on the right). Beerman helped provide the base "rum" for me.

I'm 2 months into the fun, and everything I've read says to let it sit (gently shaken a few times a week) for at least 3 months.

So what we're trying to figure out is whether the higher alcohol-clean looking one will cloud up once we dilute it. And if the cloudy one has a more desirable taste because it didn't dissolve all the stuff up like the high alcohol content one all along, or if the higher alcohol one tastes cleaner too even when diluted because it did dissolve all the goodness into it.

I know you're jealous of our science-geekiness. Too bad C-man won't be able to use these experiments for school science projects.

My kid makes me laugh

Funny thing after funny thing just comes right out of C-man's mouth. For example, the first thing he said (sang, actually) to me after waking up this morning was, "It's my birthday month! It's my birthday month! My birthday is this mo-onth!" To which Beerman responded, "He is your child." The second funny thing was, "Before you were born, grandma and grandpa got married." To which I said, "Well, some of us." Beerman and I had a good chuckle at that one. And the one that never ceases to make me giggle is his smack talking during card games or Candyland.

And the funniest of all... his recent self-portrait. In case you couldn't tell, he's wearing a cowboy hat.