Making Lemonade

One perk of an EARLY morning commute? Check out that Harvest Moon. Right?! RIGHT?! HA! Woo! Take THAT, late sleepers! YEAH!

*end of glass half-full moment*

Light Me Up

I’m gearing up for the Ragnar Relay, y’all. That’s 22.5 miles, baby! Woo! Also, SCARY. With the night running and whatnot? It’s a good thing I have my brand-spankin’ new Nathan LED Safety Strobe butt bumper! Just came in the mail!

Oh. Hey. It sounds dirty, but it’s NOT. Gosh.

Anyway, I’ve got TWO headlamps. And a red strobe-y bumper light thing. And two reflective vests! Which is not overkill at ALL! Because, honestly, my night run is going to be around 1:30 or 2:00 AM and smack in the middle of nowhere, so I want to make sure I’m WAY lit up, you know?

Again, that came out wrong.

I’m ready. That’s all I’m saying. Bring on the night run, Ragnar! That’s right. BRING it.

I’ve Been Down That Road Before

Psst… Hey! It’s Back to School Night at TD’s high school and guess what?! Guess!

It’s last period and TGIM and I just totally ditched P.E. class!

I know, right?!

“MEMORY!” (end impromptu belting out of Memory from Cats…)

Forgetful Wednesday Lunch Fiasco

DUDE. I very much hate when TGIM “forgets” to return my debit card and I “forget” I don’t have it and subsequently “forget” to pack lunch because what I DO remember is that Au Bon Pain has super delicious chicken pot pie soup, and I “forget” that I already used my super secret emergency stash that time I NEEDED M&Ms and I end up forced to forage for food like a hungry animal of some sort. Perhaps a cute little bunny rabbit. Or a deer. I don’t know. Whichever forages best, that’s the one I’m like.

Except I’m foraging for spare change rather than carrots or shrubs. I mean, clearly. If I wanted to eat vegetation, I would have “remembered” to pack a salad! You know what I’m saying?! Am I right?! Am I? AM I RIGHT?!

Yep. Forgetting is no fun at all.

It’s Genetics. Do You SEE?!

(Here’s the what:  I just found this lost post. Yep. From, like, a year and a half ago. So WAY late to the party! Still, I’d forgotten this whole conversation, so I thought I’d better post it! You know, for posterity’s sake? So… okay. That’s that.)

After attending a friend’s Bar Mitzvah, Tanner came home chock full of wild stories of crazy chair dances and professional DJs and AWESOMELY delicious food and, oh yeah, how much freaking MONEY his friend scored when he turned thirteen. Because money is a BIG DEAL. I mean, think! That is a WHOLE LOT of Pokemon! Am I right? Huh? Am I right?

Tanner’s sisters were (to put it mildly) super impressed, all “Nuh-uh! NUH-UH!” and “No FAIR!” And Alli? I can only imagine she’s been giving the matter of Bar Mitzvah’s tons of thought, as evidenced by a recent conversation.

Alli had been sitting in my room with me as I read, an unusual, pensive moodiness about her. Suddenly, she broke the silence. “You know, if Tanner were Jewish,” she said conversationally, “he’d be totally rich right now.”

Tanner overheard. “I know, right?” he replied.

Alli shrugged a little “Well That’s That” kind of shrug and lapsed back into her broody silence.

I looked at my youngest daughter with my “Really? That’s That?” kind of look, but she didn’t notice. She was lost in her thoughts, her brows deeply furrowed behind her glasses. And those thoughts? Those she was lost in? Were some seriously mercenary thoughts, it turns out.

“We need our own coming of age ceremony!” she burst out a few moments later.

Tanner perked up at that. Because, hello? Money? And professional DJs?! And chair dancing?! And MONEY?!

Noticing Tanner’s interest, Alli began to expatiate on her totally BRILLIANT idea. “We could call it a… a… a Har Litzfah!” she said, her eyes dreamy and distant, “And we would… um… tell jokes instead of reading scriptures! And people would give us MONEY for being FUNNY! Because HAR Litzvah?! Like har har har?!” She clapped her hands, reveling in her brilliance.

And I was all, “Ooooh! Pun SNAP!” and there was a giving and receiving of high-fives all around.

In other news, that inappropriate-yet-impossible-to-resist punning thing? Totally genetic.

(Har Litzfah. Good Lord.)

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