Friends

My friend Vicki and I took a little vacation with out little men a couple of months ago. One night while on vacation we took the boys to a nice crab restaurant with the selling point of an indoor playground. We sat in a booth and had a very nice dinner. The boys were bouncing back and forth from the playground to the booth throughout the dinner, and the seating arrangements at the booth changed several times, as it appeared that we played "who's sitting next to who?" throughout dinner.

You never really know or become aware of your surroundings until the hostess sits about 12 guys in a table next to your booth. Vicki and I became very quiet, and very aware.

I was still sporting my crab bib, which I removed as inconspicuously as I could. Then I brought to the attention to Vicki that we were sitting on the same side of the booth. She brought to my atttention that we were sharing a piece of cake. I laughed for days. Do people think we're lesbians? Possibly.

This past weekend Vicki and I decided to go out for dinner. She found this place, and it was a very nice place. After placing our order off the menu, I noticed the advertisement for the restaurant on the back of the menu: "Voted the most romantic and scenic resturant. . ." I showed Vicki and we laughed.

"Are people going to think we're lesbians?" I wondered. So what if they do. But, I doubt they think it because we do keep a distance between us. Needless to say, we didn't share any cake after dinner.

Life is about laughing.

Kidisms

I don't know how, but somehow little man returned from a friend's house with a sample deodorant. His friend's sister brought a case home from work?

The following morning while I was fishing through my jewelry box for an earring, little man came bouncing in, his arm straight up, "Mom, smell my pits." He demanded of me after he applied his new fabulous smelling deordorant.

"No!" I said.

"Really Mom, smell my pits!" He insisted.

"Get your armpit out of my face." I requested.

Little man, with his arm still up, looked in the mirror at his underarm and declared "I have hair under my arms."

I giggle and reminded him that he didn't.

Still admiring his armpit, little man said "Yes I do. Look Mom. Hair."

My giggle was slowly starting to turn into a laughter.

"You don't have hair under your arms. You haven't reached puberty yet." I tell him.

"I had that." He said. "I had puberty!"

"When?" I inquisitively inquired.

"When my voice got deep." He told me.