Seeing Past the Holiday

Can you tell I've got Aruba on my mind? I asked Russ for our itinerary so I can work out some pesky little details, like childcare for the poor waif we're leaving behind. Here's the response I got:

Fly down Wednesday morning, January 20, out of Ronnie Reagan, first class, non-stop, United Airbus A320 - get tan, stay drunk except for snorkling, operating a motor vehicle, and reading.

Fly back Saturday, January 30, into Ronnie Reagan, first class, non-stop, United Airbus A320 - get pasty, return to sobriety, go back to work, convince Troy that his parents are indeed Caucasian.

What more do you need?

Can you tell he's feeling frisky? I can't wait. . .

It's All Good

I had a long day yesterday, worrying about the mammogram follow up, but it's all good. Further testing cleared up the question, so no worries. Thanks for the good thoughts!

My Own Pink Celebration

I missed the pink bandwagon. It's not breast cancer awareness month any more, all the walks are walked and the runs run. But it was time for my annual mammogram, and in honor of still being so-far-so-good, thank God, click HERE for a little celebration. Thanks to all the people who take of all the rest of us with such good humor and grace.

UPDATE: I just got called back for another set of images. Wish me luck!

A Rite of Passage

Cotillion is something of a rite of passage, no? My experience as a 14- or 15-year old attending cotillion was something. . . As I recall it was a one-shot deal. We got to dress up, put our hair up, wear lipstick, and were delivered to a nearby officer's club as arm candy for some very handsome and horny cadets. We had dance cards, and the boys wore white gloves but we girls did not. My best recollection of the evening is that I caught the eye of one particular cadet who managed to sneak us into an empty and dark adjacent room. He was so gallant-- he stood in front of me so I could put my dress back together when the lights snapped on and we were discovered by an anxious chaperone.


Cotillion these days is for a younger crowd. My 12-year old says he hates it, but I think he's having a good time. Lots of his buddies are suffering through it together. I saw a Facebook exchange the other day that I thought was very funny.


T-man: I hate cotillion

friend 1: Me too!

friend 2: What does it taste like?


Anyway, I managed to get a couple of shots of my little man getting dressed for last month's event. He hasn't mastered the correct knot for his tie yet. Part of the problem is that he's left-handed and dad is not. But hey-- if we can teach him to tie his shoes, we can teach him a proper Windsor knot, hopefully before he's asphyxiated.



All joking aside, the right hand/left hand issue will always be a challenge.

But the end result is good, I think.