Life's Stories

I find life to be full of surprises, mostly funny, though sometimes not. I also find that we human beings aren't as different from each other as we think we like to think are.

Everyone has a story. Everyone likes to share their story. I have to mentally make myself shut up from telling my stories simply because someone has told me theirs and I might have one similar. Sometimes I can hardly stand to be quiet cuz my stories seem so funny to me and I want others to laugh along. Is that ego or just wanting to connect with others?

That's why I blog. I can tell all the stories I want! Even those that I had to shut up about earlier in the day.

My brother is in Breckenridge, CO for his first ever ski experience. He's really excited but has no clue what's in store for him. I've asked him to take pics (he's already texted one to me) and remember all the gory details of learning to ski.

Because MY ski experience was a complete disaster! I look back on it now and laugh but at the time I was thoroughly pissed.

We went on our honeymoon to the gorgeous mountains of Whistler Blackcomb, BC, Canada. It is where the 2010 winter Olympics are being held for cryin out loud. I had no business skiing for the first time THERE. Nonetheless, hubby and I wanted to do something fun and a little crazy for our honeymoon. That seemed to fit the bill.

Whistler is absolutely beautiful and serene. Driving up through the mountains on the side of cliffs was breathtaking. Watching a small boulder narrowly miss us as it fell from the cliff was a wee bit life threatening.

We stayed in a fabulous townhome we'd rented, complete with a private hot tub outdoors. Perfect for honeymooners but, even more importantly, medically necessary for a beginner skiier in Whistler.

The morning started out great. I was to take a full day of lessons since I'd never even seen a ski up close. Wearing all that gear felt ridiculous. My leg muscles refused to cooperate with the simple task of scootching over to the instructor.

1/2 hour later, I was at least moving with both skiis lined up. 2 hours later, I was mastering the snow plow. If you don't ski, that is where you almost but not quite cross your seemingly 30 foot skiis in the front to slow your butt down as you speed down a powdery hill.

Lunch time came. I was feeling pretty good about my progress. Turns out, my new darling husband thought I was AMAZING on skiis. Really? Oh. Okay! What? You want me to take the rest of the afternoon to learn with you instead since I'm so awesome? GREAT!

The instructor just shook her head and waved goodbye. I figured she had her money anyway and didn't really care what I did.

So we start out. I fall. I fall every 2 seconds. Small children on short skiis with no poles are flying by me.

New hubby is eyeing me with concern. He asked me to remember this move or that as I curse the skiis flying off again.

Me: What "moves" are you talking about??

Hubby: Ummm. Weren't you over there to the left in your lovely blue ski jacket cutting back and forth?

Me: No. I was over there on the right running into the other newbies during my snow plows.

Hubby: Crap. (it may or may not have been a stronger word)


So we literally spent the next 2 1/2 hours trying to get me off of the bunny slopes. It was excruciating! God bless my husband because he was SO PATIENT with me and I knew he really wanted to leap onto the gondola and ski the black slopes with abandon.

I pretty much fell down the mountain that day. Almost at the bottom of Blackcomb, I was so mad that I finally got the hang of it. And then I spent the rest of our weeklong vacation in the hot tub, watching movies and hiking a mountain once my limbs resumed use.

I'm excited for my brother. I hope no matter how his first experience skiing turns out, he comes home in good condition with a great story.

Wait until he goes to the Grand Canyon. Boy, do I have a story to tell then!

Age Appropriate Honesty Or Just Total BS?

We're quite relaxed about nudity. The girls ask questions about my body, giggle at it (thanks) and inquire about Hubby's anatomy. I want the girls to have a healthy view of their own bodies and also know that a male's body isn't some big mystery. We discuss personal privacy and the fact that some subjects are better left discussing with Mom & Dad.

However, inquiring minds still want to know everything.

My girls are fascinated with how they got here. We keep the rated R details out of our explanations but sometimes the conversation throws a curve ball and we're faced with a question we either have to dance around or tackle head on.

The other day, they were asking about their births. Easy enough, right?

How tiny were we when we were born? - I would show them an approximate length

How did we get out of your tummy? - The doctor cut my tummy to get you out (yay for c-sections when it comes to the birth questions)

Didn't it hurt? - No, I was given medicine so it wouldn't hurt AND I was so happy they were about to be born that all I could feel was love (embellishment is acceptable)

What is that blurry picture? - A sonogram. A picture of you in my tummy.

Did they know I was a girl when I was in your tummy? - (Uh oh) Yes.

Could they see my girl privates? - ...yes...

Boys have boy privates. They are called hangers. - Oh? (We're in the vehicle. There's no escape)

Yes. Boys have hangers. Daddy does. Ben does. Grandpa does. - Mmmhmm. (Had to throw Grandpa into the mix? Really??)

Ava pipes in: Boys have hangers, Mommy! Girls don't!

But they aren't really called hangers. What are they called? - (Turn up radio NOW)

I would normally tell the girls that boys have a penis except I know that my friends with boys call it quirky names and NOT penis. I am not gonna be guilty of using a word they obviously aren't ready to use with their children who own one.

We call them boy privates.

Do you think it feels funny when they sit on it? Their privates, I mean? - Well, why don't you ask Daddy? (finally, my out!)

I could tell Bella had filed this question for later. She and Ava spent the rest of the ride arguing about who was the tiniest baby.

When Hubby gets home that evening, the girls immediately start asking their questions.

Daddy, does it hurt when you sit on your hanger? - No, does it hurt when you sit on your girl privates? (He looks at me and mouths "Hanger?" I shrug. Their word, not mine)

Bella ponders and says, No, but I don't have a hanger - Good point.

Daddy, what do you call your boy privates? - My penis.


Great. Now I have to warn the mothers.

The Abyss of Life

Ta-Dah! Here I am once again. Home sweet blog home. What? No more readers? Nobody hung around for the last several months waiting for my grand return? Mom?

I've missed blogging. I didn't realize how much I like writing full sentences until I joined Facebook and started giving sometimes witty status updates. Not as fulfilling as one might think.

So, I'm back to the blogosphere. Not for anyone else but me. As it was and as it should be.

See you in a few months.

I'm kidding! Oh, silly me.