We were discussing the impending
doom birthday party of one of the twins’ classmates today.
“There’s probably going to be cake,” I told them, as if an incentive is needed to attend a 4 year old’s birthday.
“No!!” cried Cereal Killer in horror.
What? Like, seriously? We’re freaking out about cake? Who is this kid?
“I can’t eat cake!” he sobbed. “I only eat cake with this hand and I have a Band-aid on it!”
My thoughts: 1) You eat it with your hand. Oh really? How about you eat it with a fork so your friends don’t get confirmation that you were raised by cavepeople. 2) You’re going to let a Band-aid get in the way of cake consumption? Were you switched at birth with my real son? I could have no arms or legs and a jaw that’s wired shut and I’d still find a way to eat cake. You just aren’t trying hard enough.
I look like a lost hippie. And check out my lopsided hair. Nice.
Today was the local YMCA’s “fun run”. A “fun run” is code for a bunch of hyper-competitive super runners, a few folks who are actually doing it for fun, and me. I fall in to the “I wish I would have been a runner in high school but I wasn’t so I have no practical running knowledge and don’t go really fast but it helped take off the baby weight so get off my back about it” category.
I was originally intending to start out running season with the 10K race, but one of my so-called friends gave me a cold. That virus originated in the 6th layer of hell. I was a crabby, tired snot machine for the better part of two weeks. The two weeks immediately preceding the race. Since I didn’t want to fall over and die after the race (I have kids to take to swim lessons, people. Death isn’t an option!) I opted to run the 5K.
It was cold, snowy, and sloppy on the road but I have got to admit that it was a ton of fun. I surprised myself and ran my fastest race ever and came in 10th in my age class. (That’s a Joe Biden moment again, peeps. The 20-29 age class is full of skinny college girls who can outrun me whilst in a coma. So the fact that I was not last was a BFD.)
And I got the kids to their swim lessons on time. And I baked 2 cakes.
Okay, while that is true, it makes me sound like some kind of semi-athletic Stepford Wife. To be more realistic, the cakes were made from mixes and I had my
indentured servants children decorate them. And they did an AWESOME job.
The next Ace of Cakes is clearly in my family.
Happy Easter, everyone!