Doug found a little piece of nostalgia this week when Grandma brought over toy soldiers “for the kids.” After separating these guys from Civil, Vietnam and both world wars, he set up an elaborate battle scene on our kitchen counter. My own personal battle—finding a way to remove it without him noticing.
Today was round two with the personal trainer. “I hope you’re going to cut me more slack than you did last week,” I told him. “I couldn’t lift a coffee cup for three days after that workout without crying. Have mercy on me. I’m old enough to be your teen mom. This isn’t the Olympics.”
We haven’t reached the sad part yet.
“What workout?” he asked. “I was just showing you how to use the equipment!”
Eva’s Tinkerbell “tap and sing” balloon was accidentally released in the wild today when I tripped over a Lego tower, grabbed hold of the balloon for support, fell out the front door, waved at the mailman and lost my grip. If you hear an obnoxious choir of pixies bellowing the “Happy Birthday” song over and over again from your treetops, kindly shoot on sight.