Snow!

I went cross country skiing last weekend (or was it the weekend before....) and was fortunate enough to get a good dusting of snow. Skiing on fresh powder is great, but sometimes the cost isn't measured in tickets, but rather, dents and time lost. I dented the wife's truck a tad (I needed 4wd vs the lowered G35 "snowplow") when I tried to power through a snow bank that turned out to have a post embedded in it. Fortunately, the plastic piece was easy to pop back, and I doubt that anyone will ever notice the slight deformity. Besides, I have some local hooligans I can blame it on. I don't even need to go outside, I can just round up the usual suspects around the house!

The drive home was dicey. At one point there was only about 10 feet of visibility. At one point I almost thought I might have been lost and stranded. Wouldn't that have been a hoot- another hapless tourist lost in the Sierras. I sat there imagining the news story at home, and how the kids would fight over all my toys. That motivated me to survive. I wouldn't do well on "Lost". I would go crazy imagining the boys running my trains off the track, or playing with my hot wheels, or even staging fights with the dog and the rc dinosaur.

Hmm..... that last one has merit.....

Real men eat Quiche

I remember back in the eighties there was a book titled "Real men don't eat Quiche". Hell with that! The authors obviously never had the right recipe. I and my whole clan love it! I can't get away with making just one- we need two minimum, and three is preferred. The whole experience at our house demands a serving for breakfast the following day. If it's all gone, then the natives get restless and we end up being cranky all day. Score one for the French. It sort of explains why Parisians can be so...well, French. Perhaps Quiche is the answer to world peace. If so, we're gonna need more chickens.

The point I stress most is that real men don't THROW Quiche. With that as a measure there is only one real man in my house.

Count the things wrong with this picture....

I really don't know where to begin. OK. Hmmm. Helmet; check. Motorcycle; check. Broken arm; check. Gloves? Chest protector?

Get back in the garage and get the rest of your gear NOW.

Just kidding.

Oh... NO RIDING THE MOTORCYCLE WITH A BROKEN ARM! Seriously.

AGAIN?!

Perhaps I did not make myself clear: "DO NOT JUMP FROM THINGS ONTO OTHER THINGS!". I don't think that is difficult to understand, even for a 10 yr old. Anything that is not a person is a thing. Do not jump from things (or people, but that is a whole different lecture, and don't think for a minute we have not had that conversation either....).


This makes seven. You read that right. SEVEN. Three more and we get one free (kidding- nothing is free in the medical world.....). I just can't believe that he did it again. I know it hurts- he had to get a morphine drip the night it happened- and the pain would be a deterrent for me, so why does he do it?

To complete the picture, let me tell you that baseball tryouts were the following day. He still went- wouldn't dream of missing that- and did pretty good considering his throwing arm was in a cast. His throws looked more like grenade tosses than anything else, but you gotta give him credit for trying. The little league folks were concerned- they didn't want to let him try out because he might hurt himself.

We are way past that point. To get where we are now you have to go past that, drive all night, and when the sun is high in the sky, you will be where we are now.

So where's my drip?