ROUNDUP

Last weekend my hubby went to Wyoming with Wounded Warriors to attend a roundup. WW is an amazing program for our injured service men and women.  Hubby on a horse... on a ranch... with cattle... was a little unsettling to me, but there is no talking him out of anything to do with the Military. He is a stubborn Marine thru and thru and I knew he would get up on that horse with the warriors and attempt to drive no matter what I had to say about it.  I didn't hear much from him during the weekend, just a post on Facebook claiming, "damn horse got away from me!"  
Oh jeez, that can't be good.

When I talked to him on his way home, he informed me that he was thrown from an angry horse... a few cuts and bruises, broken toe... no big deal... not to worry... he saddled back up and finished the ride!  ookkkkkkaaayyyyyyy

A few hours later he came limping through the door. Could I get him an ice pack and something for the pain? It was all I could do not to laugh.

ME:  "Honey, why would you get on a horse when you don't know how to ride?"
HIM:  "I know how to ride! I have ridden plenty of horses!"
ME:   uh, huh... "when? where?"
HIM: "you know, over the years... at resorts and various places"
ME:  "and it didn't occur to you a ranch horse might be different than a resort horse??"
HIM: "Shut up Texas!!"
just sayin'...

Aside from the angry horse, he had some great stories to tell about his experience at the ranch and the amazing men he spent the weekend with.  He even walked away with a pretty cool buckle... even though he needed a little help attaching it to his belt....

~SOS~

THE F WORD

No, not that F word. Football was the one I was referring to. It is that time of year again and every Monday, Thursday, Saturday and Sunday (did I get the days right? cause it feels like EVERYDAY) if you enter the football stadium that is our house you will hear yelling, screaming and various words that we teach our children NOT to say.  The television is tuned to screams football. complete with the big screen, wolfer and surround sound so you get the full effect. just like in the stadium. all day. all night. game after game. after game.

That I can handle... for the most part.

Now for the other F word. Nooo, not that one. Fantasy. or Fake. As much as I like football... pre kids I could actually sit and watch a game... maybe have a few beers while I watch.... I have never understood the fantasy thing. Every year, for years hubby and a group of friends get together and pretend they own a NFL team. They have questionable names for their teams such as "Skillachi di Mar", "Gorilla Monsoon", "Merciless Zachammer" and "Jieux Redux". I could go on....  how about... "Mudcat's Pubic Opus".  I know. dont ask. They jockey for players from real teams to be on their fake teams to compete against each other each week in their fake football world.

A few days ago, hubby announced it was time.  He grabbed a beer and headed to the office to get ready for the fake draft only to return a few minutes later announcing he had the date wrong. Turns out he was overanxious to compile his fake team. Not to worry preseason is just heating up and this season is going to be a good one.  Soon enough he will be locked down with his buddies, computers in hand, stadium noise at ear deafening decibels where trades will be made, stats will be compiled and trash talk will fly.  Sure, in the end there is a significant money pot for the winner. But the true win lies in the victory itself. One of them will gain the rights to thump their chest and gloat for the next several months.

Until next season...
when it starts all over again.
~SOS~

STRAIGHT UP THE MOUNTAIN

I lived in Vail, Colorado for four of the most incredible years of my life. I was the Activity Director of a private club attached to the ginormous Vail Resorts.  So many activities for the members, yet the snowshoe hike always proved the most popular.  A group of us would hike up Bachelor Gulch Mountain to Zach's Cabin for dinner, hopefully the full moon lighting the way.

One night things went awry.  There was a Marine in the group.  He decided to hell with the trail, he was headed straight up. The quickest route. That made the most sense.  There was wine and a warm fire waiting at the cabin.  Now, if you have ever hiked a snow covered mountain, you know that going straight up a blue slope is near impossible for most.  Half my group started to follow him and the other half was lagging behind.  Everyone gasping for air, me included.  Everyone, except the Marine of course.  My nerves started to tingle.  My blood pressure rising. The group was breaking apart. Dark night. Steep, snowy mountain. Not good.  I had to call for back-up. Forty minutes and six snowmobiles later there were some very exhausted hikers, but everyone made it to the cabin. Once I peeled off my layers and brushed off the snow I was extremely angry pissed. Blood boiling. I hunt down the marine and give him a piece of my mind. His reply: "Wanna go out?" I'm sorry WTF? Is he serious?!? All I could do was walk away.  It would have been unprofessional to smack him.

He stalked called me for a few weeks and I finally agreed to go out with him. We decided for our first date it was only appropriate to take a snowshoe hike, him promising it would not be straight up. He vowed to follow my lead.  So, we hiked and drank wine and ended up at the cabin where we drank more wine and talked for hours by the fire.  After dinner we noodled with the idea of sliding down the mountain on our butts, but in the end we decided it wise to take the Snowcat down. No need to call in the snowmobiles tonight.

The following month, another snowshoe hike.  This time I lit up the trail with bright green glow sticks. Follow the sticks I told my hikers as I scanned the crowd.  The Marine was back. I give him my best "you better follow the sticks" glare.  He smiled back at me. He didn't follow the sticks. And neither did a handful of others. What is up with men and their egos? Once again I call in the snowmobiles to round everyone up and get them to the cabin.

And that is how the adventure has continued on ever since. It has been an incredible journey and although difficult at times, I could not imagine life without the crazy Marine. He is always seeking out the next mountain to climb and never even hesitates to take it head on.

The mountain we are headed up at the moment is getting a lot of attention. It all started with an article he wrote for Ranger Up and snowballed into Alchemist Management. I am so incredibly proud of what he has accomplished so far and yet it is only the beginning.  He continues to amaze me everyday.

a few of the boys

So, we are headed up this very steep mountain. Together. And no matter what lies ahead, he will always be that crazy, hardheaded, punk ass Marine I met on the mountain one dark night eight years ago to me.
~SOS~

NAKEDNESS

It seems punks loves to feel the air on her skin. Last night, using one of her squawk calls, "MAMA, MAMA, MAAAMAAAA!" I finally gave in and went to see what the hell she wanted at 3am. She wanted milk, of course. But what I also found was a completely naked child, no diaper, no nothing and a very wet bed. She then proceeded to use her crib as a trampoline and fell apart in a fit of laughter. a toddler's sense of humor can be a little off sometimes. 

My conclusion is that nakedness is genetic. When I first met my hubby, we used to joke that his friends had seen him naked more than I had. I heard story after story of him running naked in college. Like when his brothers found him passed out in front of the church after he tried to break in with his dog running circles around him in attempt to wake him.  um, your bed is next door in the fraternity house. Even now when the boys get together for their nights of debauchery, you will inevitably always hear the famous line, "Who stole my pants?!" Thankfully, my hubby keeps his clothes on in public now, although not by preference I am sure.

So, I am hoping punks is going through a phase and will grow out of this because if she acts like her father did in college we are in some serious trouble. shooo karma, do not set up shop here.

It fits. Daddy's little girl, she is her father's daughter.
~SOS

FALL TO YOUR KNEES

I haven't said much in a while probably because I am still reeling at the shock of baby girl #2. We don't really have a pet name for her yet. My husband calls her "deuce" but this is not going to stick because of obvious reasons that I will not explain. When I was pregnant with both girls he had the name Leonitius picked out for a boy.  I'm 90% sure he was serious. Only a man would come up with names like that for their child. Perhaps if she were a boy I would let "deuce" slide. However, I would never agree to Leonitius.  Anyhooo, I am still trying to figure out why it feels like I have five children now instead of just two? Having one was fantastic, but throw another into the mix and all I do is change diapers and chase punks while #2 is a permanent fixture emerging from my boob. My brain is not even functioning at half capacity due to the fact I can't string together more than two hours of sleep at a time and if I am lucky a whopping five total for the night. It seems eating, showering (at least before noon) and sleeping is a thing of the past, at least for now. I have not one, but two shadows. I often find myself wondering about people who have more than two children... do they know how children are made or are they just straight up crazy?

This morning as my boob extension is latched on uncomfortably tight, I ask my hubby to please change punks dirty diaper and he says, wait for it... "not what I had in mind first thing in the morning, that is your job" I think I even saw some chest pumping as he was exiting the room.

Now, hold up. I will say I am happy we both agree I am the best candidate to raise our children. It is the most rewarding 24 hour-a-day, 365 days-a-year, non-stop, no-lunch-break or football-Sunday-time JOB on the planet, but I do not always appreciate my hubby's caveman like thinking. Still let us lay this out...

My hubby is a sports agent and so he jets all over the world representing his MMA fighters. He just came back from Germany and is set for Australia in late February. (I am going to Australia, *smile*) There will also be some trips in between to Canada and who knows where else. So, I am in all aspects of the word, a single mom a lot of the time. He negotiates big contracts and rubs elbows with the whos who in the fighting world because, well he manages some of the top fighters. However, when I escape to yoga when he is here, my only escape alone ... I get home and he always has a bewildered look on his face and is generally mumbling something about punks being the tasmanian devil and #2 being high maintenance. #2 is six weeks old. A few of his mumbles as the house is always in shambles: "Honey, you cant get anything done when you have the girls!" & "Please take #2, I have to go to the bathroom!" you held your pee for 2 hours?! The best was when #2 projectile pooped on him while he was changing her and although funny, the joke was on me in the end because I was the one cleaning it up when I got home. So, the short of it is, my hubby can run with the big boys, but two tiny girls bring him to his knees. Good job girls. 

I love staying home with my girls. #2 sleeps in the bed with us much to hubby's disapproval. Last night he really pushed me to put her in her own bed even when I told him it wouldn't work.  Of course it didn't and as soon as I set her down she was wide awake. I went downstairs to show hubby his plan didn't work and he was snoring on the couch. awesome. I banged around a bit and made some noise in an effort to rise him and he snored right through it all. He must have been tired. Imagine that. Meanwhile it took me three hours to get her back to sleep. last time I listen to him.

It would be nice to have a little more help from hubby... especially when both girls are crying, but I wouldn't trade my JOB for the world. I sometimes wish I could take a nap, but Bikram keeps saying in class that the Ardha-Kurmasana yoga pose has more benefits than eight hours of sleep. I think I will go do that pose now. I'm tired.

Signing off for now,
SOS

TAKING THE MATERNITY TOUR... SORTA

Both my husband, L and I are wise asses and what happens when the two of us go places together is we usually make fast friends with other wise asses lurking around or else we get ugly stares and looks of disapproval from our surrounding peeps. He is, however much more vocal than me most of the time. One can only imagine whats in store when we are out with our friends, but that is for another day. Hey, we like to have a good time. and yes, we are those people...

Last night, at 36 weeks we decided it was time to register at a hospital and take our maternity tour....sorta.  Our first was born at UCLA and L complained the recovery room and bed were too small for him.  So, this time he wanted to go to St. Johns because he had been there and the rooms were much better. OMG, HE was uncomfortable? Unthinkable. Nonetheless, we are switching hospitals in order to make him more comfortable this time around.

As we walk in the room, there is a 9lb baby doll being passed around. The tour guide lady wants everyone to know what a nine pound baby feels like. (okay? because that prepares you for pushing it out of your you know what? and who the hell has a 9lb baby anyway?)  We haven't even found a seat and L starts up, "I have a 22 pound baby if anyone wants to know what that feels like." Here we go. A few giggles. Maybe this wont be so bad. The tour lady launches into her power point and we just look at each other and I know exactly what L is thinking, "crap, I have my training session in an hour and this is not looking good." The slides go on and on.... and on.  My toddler has a dirty diaper so I get a quick break. When I come back we change seats so she can better entertain herself. Why didn't I bring toys you ask? Well, I did, but she is never interested in those. And why would she be when there is a big white table she has never seen before and some chairs that are big and brown and oh my, a white board she can color on? I drift away for a minute while she colors and when I come to, I hear the tour lady telling everyone it is California state law to have an infant seat in your car when you leave the hospital. ummm, duh. One wifey asks if it is okay to install it yourself or do you have to have a professional install it?  seriously? L doesn't miss a beat, "he can do it (looking at her husband), but its all on you man!"  blank stare from the husband and wife. a few smirks. silence. yup, we are making friends. A few minutes later, the same wife turns and glares at us and says to the guide lady, "I am sorry I can't hear you. Can you repeat that?"  Clearly this is her first child. Yes, you must pay close attention wifey there will be a quiz later.  I will say say, our toddler could have been a little quieter, but most is to blame on my husband. He was board and would start to poke at her, she would start giggling, they would exit for a minute (repeat) and this was possibly causing a disturbance, but other than that she was very good...she loves her daddy.

Finally, the power point draws to a close and at this point and we have toured exactly nothing, but still we take this as our cue. During the break, I find the tour guide and ask her to point at the doors we enter when it is "time".  I hand her our paperwork and we make our escape. I am sure the rooms are quite lovely and L has to make his training session. As the doors to the elevator were closing, L looks into the eyes of wifey and says, "I hope you have a horrible labor." nice.

In the car I comment that the husband of the wifey was a little dull. L's reply, "that's because she has castrated him, honey." .... and there you have it.