"Strategery." - Will Ferrell as George W. Bush on SNL

George Dubbya has occasionally used the wrong word, pronunciation, or just created a word while speaking.  I think supporters and non-supporters alike can agree on this.  Kinda like I do when I sing along to Janet Jackson songs - especially The Pleasure Principle and Rhythm Nation.  I can groove and mumble, but the only line I know for sure in Rhythm Nation is "We are part of the rhythm nation."  I've also been known to pull a George Dubbya in a normal conversation.  The key to doing it properly is simply...the confidence.

Oldest Boy has mastered this skill.  He's not embarrassed and he believes he's pulled if off - like George Dubbya and I do.  It's easy to convince yourself that no one's noticed.

Examples
The following are examples of Oldest Boy's abilities, who has the excuse of being a 10-year old child.  I'm sure my family and friends could share examples of my George Dubbya's, but I don't have an excuse.

"Know what's sad?  That Middle Boy has a sensation to chicken."  (sensitivity)
[After receiving some allergy test results for Middle Boy.]

"Have I had my tenacity shot?" (tetnus)

"I wash my hands, but not repulsively."  (compulsively)

"Did he totally obliverate the flowers?!"  (obliterate)

"That would be nice.  I've been a little cabin sick lately." (cabin fever)
[When asked recently if he'd like to go to Costco.]

"That's a perm whale." (sperm - I know it's not necessary to explain all of these.)

"You have nice elbows." (boobs, breasts, whatever)
[Said while looking at my chest at a very young age.]

I do believe it is now time for me to conclusify this post.

Dad always told ME to hydrate.

Supermodel and I exercised today.

This morning we lifted weights.  We rode our mountain bikes yesterday, although we stayed on roads for much of the ride.  We pepper in runs, too.

The best part of exercise time with my friends is our conversation.  "What goes on the run, stays on the run" is our rule.  I wish I could blog about it.  But I can't.  I can share that topics range from the mundane to saucy.  I can also share the basic beginnings of my love of exercise...

The Birth of Running
I started running with my Dad when I was around 12 years old.  He and his running partners didn't talk about anything that interesting.  They were late 30's, early 40's, all men trying to squeeze in runs before work with a long run on the weekend.  Maybe they tempered their conversation because I was there.  But the men didn't talk about anything that juicy.  They farted a lot, blamed it on me and laughed.  "Chri-see!  That's disgusting!  Say, excuse me."  I liked the attention.

The Birth of Cycling
When I married Chris, he was a cyclist.  I eventually started mountain biking, loved it, then convinced Dad to give it a try.  Dad had been a triathlete so he'd ridden road bikes prior, but at the time he was more of an ultra-endurance runner.  He wasn't cycling. 

[For the record, Dad's a stud on a bike now.  He doesn't run anymore - bad knees.  He's a roadie and can kick the butts of guys half his age.]

C'mon Dad!  It'll be fun!
I was excited when Dad got his mountain bike.  He wasn't riding it much, so for Father's Day that year, I thought our father/daughter activity could be a nice ride in the desert.  It was the middle of June in Phoenix, Arizona.  We went to McDowell Mountain Park and chose a trail that Chris and I frequently rode.  It was a 15 mile loop that wasn't too technical and had just the right amount of ups and downs.

The problem? 
We didn't beat the heat.  Chris and I were used to riding in high temps (stupid really), plus we were a little younger.  It was well over 100 degrees. The sun was intense, there was no breeze, and no shade.  We almost killed Dad.

What goes on the ride...stays on the ride (maybe).
We'd been riding for an hour with another one to go.  I was behind Dad.  Without saying anything, he pulled his bike off the trail, threw it in the dirt, and LAID down under a dead mesquite tree that provided about 6 inches of shade. 

With his eyes closed, sweat oozing from his body, his head visibly throbbing from the heat, he said, "The next time you want to do a father/daughter activity...take me to lunch."

Road Warriors

Friends recently visited us while on a business/pleasure trip.  They road tripped from the east coast to the western states with their two kids (travelin' age kids, not babies or toddlers) and their pet horse dog named Wilbur. 

Wilbur is an 8-month old Bullmastiff with a brindle coat (I looked that up - it's tiger stripey).  His family says he weighs 130-ish pounds - emphasis on the "ish" - with 80 additional pounds to look forward to as he matures.  Wilbur simultaneously fascinated and terrified the kids and Mary.  Ultimately fascination took over.  Wilbur vocalized like Chewbacca, drooled, blew snot bubbles, lumbered around like Baby Huey, and had the most expressive face.  We decided his face was a cross between a bear and an orangutan.

Chris and I were simply fascinated by our friend's ability to:

1)  drive from the east coast to the western states;

2) do this with two kids (our travelin' age kids have a rough time on road trips);

3)  share the trip with their horse dog;

4)  not just bring a bag of dog food, but travel with several pounds of frozen, raw meat to feed Wilbur.  (I had never heard of feeding raw but dogs are carnivores and many people feed their dogs raw meat because it's healthy for them - look it up.  I did.  Mary's not getting any though - meat that is.)

These are hardy, compassionate, life lovin', dog lovin' people! 

Chris and I have been on vacation strikes for years at a time because of traveling-with-small-child induced exhaustion.  Toddler Child almost killed us in Colorado and the two older boys complained about the long car ride. 

We've taken Mary twice with us to Mother and Dad's in Arizona.  The first time was right after her near-death experience and she sat on my lap for 11 hours with 50 staples in her stomach.  I don't know why we took her the second time.  Maybe we thought it'd be "fun" to take the family dog on vacation.  Mary spa's it now.

A few years ago Middle Boy was interested in studying and drawing dogs.  We bought him a few books on dog breeds and dog art.  He spent a lot of time alone in his room reading and drawing.  We saw several sketches of Old English Sheepdogs, Dalmatians, and mutts.  We didn't know the extent of his breed knowledge.

Shortly after Middle Boy became the dog expert in our house, we planned a trip to Arizona.  I packed Mary's suitcase for the Little Dog's Salon and Resort.  Chris and the boys waited in the car while I handled Mary's check-in.  An outdoor play area was visible from the parking lot, so all the little dogs could wave good-bye as their humans drove away.  Middle Boy had been quietly observing the dogs.

As we headed towards the airport, Middle Boy said, "Did you see those two, white Bitchin' Fries?"