Monday, Monday

I picked The Tribe up at school last week intent on making the most of single digit high temps and blowing off some steam at the Y. I was immediately informed that the Y was not on the to do list as there was a lunar eclipse to observe. Since a lunar eclipse necessarily involves a moon, I suggested we had a few hours to burn, literally, until the eclipse would begin. Soap joined me on the trainers and we plugged away, only to be completely delighted by the rising of the full moon with the setting of the sun. Lovely. We monitored the progress of the moon, intent on arriving home long before the eclipse began, anticipation rising with the great ruler of the night sky. Dinner was a hasty mess, homework was an afterthought as they took turns watching and reporting.

Along about half past bed time, and the moon in partial eclipse, I informed them that it was time to head to bed. Aaarrgggg. No argument, up to bed. There is a stairwell that rises up from our living room, and at the top of the stair well is an east facing window. There was a day when a certain members of the tribe would lie at the top of the stairwell, silently watching mom and dad's movie, until an exclamation gave her away and she was sent permamently to bed. Little wonder that at 9:32 CST I heard a great cheer and hurrah from the top of the stairs.

We've seen our first Lunar Eclipse! Yes! Then the scamper of 8 feet. A good night's sleep is a reasonable sacrifice for awe and scientific discovery. There must be a profound statement in there to the effect that sleepers sleep while dreamers soar. Soapinator was dismayed at missing her front row seat to the Apocalypse that she was secretly hoping the eclipse would commence, until I informed her that catastrophic destruction might dampen her plans to attend horse camp this summer.

Dreams of triathlon primarily interrupt our sleep presently. Early morning training sessions. Sunday naps cut short to run or swim. But with the coming advent of spring, a Sunday afternoon run in the sunshine is equally as refreshing as a winter's nap, and plodding patiently towards a goal is worth the throwing off of blankets in the crush of morning cold.

I need a theme song. "Let's get it on" carried me through my last monumental season. Last season was more "It's my party and I'll cry if I want to". I compiling a soundtrack. Lucky me, my A race is in the heart of the southwest and cowboys and country western. If I didn't lose you on that last sentence, and you have song ideas, let me know.

"Things That Never Cross a Man's Mind" by Kellie Pickle of American Idol fame is one of my current favorites.

a sampling
I need to go shopping
These shoes are all wrong
Just look in my closet
Not a thing to put on
I wonder how these jeans make me look from behind
Things that never cross a man's mind

Lets turn off the TV
Now can't we just talk
Lets lay here and cuddle
Till we both drift off
If we don't make love
That'll be just fine
Things that never cross a man's mind

That joke is too dirty
This steak is too thick
Ain't no way in the world I'll ever finish it
That car is too fast
This beer is too cold
And watching all this football is sure getting old
Wish I was working this weekend
Not on the lake wetting my line
Things that never cross a man's mind

Her lips are too red
Her skirt is too tight
Her legs are too long
And her heels are too high
Boy, she looks like the marrying kind
Things that never cross a man's mind

Feel free to add your own.

If you haven't voted for EVO Tri, go do it- just for fun.

More importantly, go vote for Lana to get out of the Tomb of Shame and vote Tridummy's backside in (scroll down to "perfume slick".) although I gotta say, it made me laugh.

It's wine and Tac time

it's as political as I'll get

Vote for Commodore!!!!!!!!

A vote for Comm is a vote for the Common Man!

Mom, make me look like a Rock Star!

Buy a nine year old a guitar for christmas, have his dad teach him a couple cords, and suddenly he wants to be a Rock Star! Egged on by his oldest sister, Y (formerly the Urp) decided his normal bowl cut no longer sufficed, he needed to look like a rock star, a la The Jonas Brothers. For the record, the only barber the boys have known is Salon de Trimama. Hair cutting is not rocket science, most of the time. And when it is, there is always the saving redemption of the buzzy. When Y was three-ish, the buzzy vibrated wildly against his head, sending him into fits of laughter and giggles. It might take an entire morning to even him out, but in the end, high and tight and entirely rub able. He used to charge a quarter. He's outgrown quarters and now it's on to rock star. Fortunately his hair grows naturally forward, so the whole long hair, shaggy thing isn't so difficult. His problem is that he doesn't like his hair in his eyes, so we'll see how it goes.

New rule in the Trimama household. If you want to use your mouth to cut someone, you stop the bleeding. In other words, you say something mean to someone, you now say something kind. Creativity knows no bounds, and has fallen just short of "if I was a fly you'd be the first poop I'd swarm." I was hoping for, "I like your smile". There is always the throwback, "you're nice". I want genuine, so we are working on it. I'm of the belief that home should be the place where you sit by the fire and cut the chill, find good conversation and friendship and on most nights a warm meal. But even on cold cereal nights, I want my family to be able to find home an escape from the harsh reality of the world. I certainly don't want home to be the fridge you pass by on the way to your "own" room. I don't think you should ever feel alone in your own family.

"Look what I can do! I'm a genius. It's a skill that took years to perfect. Actually it only too 10 minutes but it's still cool." At times it's good to listen to your kids, really listen, and at times it's good to just let the 90 mile per hour prattle roll off your ears. That's why I've installed state of the art filtering hardware in my brain. The state department has nothing on me with it's ability to filter out "dirty bomb" and "safe house". My hardware discerns inflection and cadence. Not quite on the level of national security, but to me it's essential to know when to nod and uh hmm, and when to interject. It's a working science that I suspect will take years to perfect.

I suspect school will be sullen and grouchy today, the side effects of 7 below and indoor recess, and the cataclysmic sugar crash hangover from Valentine's day. I think we are going to lick salt cubes for dinner. HG has an organizational meeting for Rugby tonight. Rugby is football without pads. I value my baby's brain cells. We'll see. We are working on ways to make her 2000 plus kid very large high school, smaller. Sub groups of friends is the best tactic I know.

Someone bowed down to me and asked to touch my Ironman swim cap at the pool yesterday. I see a future training client. God has blessed me richly, I'm the second highest sales person in our branch this month, next only to my boss. Not bad for a semi part time stay at home mom. Let's just keep getting healthy people!

Tonight I get to make my weekly rounds of the blogosphere- I love Fridays. Glass of wine, virtually connecting with friends. That's a pretty good happy hour. See you at the bar.

Iron Widowed...once again

Someone has been stealing my razors, leaving me to find long, black, comeover like hairs on the back of my knees caps. While a little drag is nice, if it's hairy, it's scary, so I stopped by Target on the way to the Y for my recent 3000 yd swim. (did I mention it's good to be training again?) There is nothing like the clean shave of a new razor, and to verify I hoisted my leg up on the kitchen counter for Tac to inspect. "Look how smooth my legs are?" I say, flirtatiously. Tac runs his hand up my leg with a dreamy look on his face and it's on. Almost. "I really need to shave too." and he wanders off.

I'm an Iron Widow once again...sigh.

But I am glad I shaved. Boy am I glad I shaved. Because we went to a local technical college at the behest of a friend who instructs up and coming massage therapists as they needed bodies. Cosmotology school, I presumed women. Then Michael walked in. Not Michelle, Mike-al. Cute, adorable Michael. Tac and I have been together for 20 years and in all those years I've never encountered more then a casual hug from fellow guy friends. So, awkward. But, I could just about be Michael's mom, and he was very professional and gave a darn good massage. Left me thinking I really need to get on the foam roller a lot more often.

Massage is essential in a northern climes during winter; we tend to forget what human touch feels like for all the layers. Which possibly explains why, when I sit on the big comfy chair, legs draped over the side, I quickly have a bundle of legs and arms joining me as each of The Tribe squeezes in to "their" spot. Four of us still fit on the big, comfy chair. Glancing across the room I see the eye rolls of Tac and HG, tapping wildly on their lap tops, discussing the latest in music and culture-they don't like the pterodactyl screams coming from the mass of body parts on the comfy chairs but they accept it as a part of the normal ebb and flo of our household. If it wasn't their, they'd miss it.

I enrolled HG in our local high school today. Hmmm. My baby's going to high school. I drove the long way home and picked up a bottle of wine. Actually two. Red Bicycle and Red Truck. They were out of Red Guitar. But now I need to get my red eyes to bed so I can get up and make some green cash tomorrow.

It's a spin-lift day with a nice run on Friday. Happy hump day