Beer is living proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy - Ben Franklin

More proof - martinis and sushi! A salute to good old Ben who knew about beer. Here here. But, perhaps Ben never had a mojito martini at Roy Yamaguchi's when he walked (or rode his horse down) the streets of Philadelphia, PA. See how happy we look, Ben?!
So here's the story. We girls decided it was time for a weekend get-away. No husbands, no kids, no responsibility. My girl Raju and I headed up to Philly for a long weekend and some R&R. (Translate - shopping, drinking, eating, and sleeping.) And, that we did. Big shout out to Raju and Rob for the free hotel hook-up! Big shout out to the hotel for the FREE 2 hour manager's cocktail special. Oh yeah!

One might ask what there is to learn from enjoying a FREE 2 hour hotel manager's cocktail special. Well, let me tell you! Two 5'6" (weight undisclosed!) women can successfully drink 5 vodka tonics each in that period of time and still walk across the room in three inch heels looking fabulous. Do you really need to know anything else?

A Dollar Sixty-Two and a Friendly Wave

I don't know about you, but I am a soda FREAK! I don't deny myself many things as far as food goes, but even when I can't zip the jeans and have to start the proverbial crash diet - COKE is always included. Most of the time I make it a diet, but a coke - a real coke - is my favorite beverage, ever.

Every morning before I join the forces of evil and start my journey through traffic hell, I swing by my local McDonald's to get my 32 oz diet coke. (Yeah - it's nearly an hour commute and I need it!) I live in a small town in the DC burbs, and my McDonald's wants to promote a "home town" experience. Every morning (rain, snow, sleet or shine), a wonderful individual is standing outside manning his or her (and it's usually a his) post to personally take our orders. I've been doing this routine for three years now. My McDonald's guy and I are past the "Good morning, welcome to McDonald's may I take your order please" hooplah. There's really no need for it - we are friends. I know how much my large diet coke is going to cost - it's always $1.62 - and I always have my money ready. There's no need for communication over my order. Instead, we wave to each other, he punches in his "here comes the crazy large diet coke lady" code, and I keep going. As soon as I get to the first window, I pay and move to the second window. By that time, I see my diet coke (it all it's beautiful glory) being extended to me by the arm of my inside girl. I don't know her name - I just know her as the girl with the gold tooth who doesn't speak English. We smile at each other and I move on. Sometimes I don't even have to come to a complete stop!

Can I just say - I love this realationship with my Micky-Dee's folks! This epitomizes the "Have a coke and a smile routine." Service at it's finest - and always with a gold-toothed smile. Does it really get any better than that?!

Batman Begins

Little did I know that a four year old could have such a strong opinion about how his bedroom should be decorated. I mean - come on, he's four. When he was one and I decorated his room, I just assumed he'd like sports. Three years later, I'm approached with "Momma, why did I not get to choose what I wanted in my room. I do not want a sports room, I do not like my room. I think I should get to choose what I want my room to look like." Then when I asked him how he'd like for his room to be decorated, the reply was - of course- super heroes. SHOCKER! Thus, Batman begins. Before I started this project, I knew if I painted "just" Batman on the wall, he'd want "Spider Man." And, if I painted just "Spider Man", he'd want "Super Man." So, I'm painting all three (plus the Riddler and Robin.) Can't have Batman without the croanies. Here is a picture of how the room is progressing. Stay tuned for updates!!

My Handsome Dudes

Here are some pictures of my babies. These were taken as a surprise for dad on Father's Day. My boys ROCK!

A few things I've learned from living with 3 boys (husband is included here.)

They all snore. It just gets much MUCH louder and more annoying as they get older.

They are obsessed with their private parts - at all ages. (Even in the womb. I have the pictures to prove it.)

I have four toilets in my house. I can go to any one of them at any time of the day, and there will be something floating.

If I have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I find the toilet paper in the dark and wipe the seat off first. Trust me on this one.

They fart more than is comprehensible.

Even when they beg, I will not let them show me what just came out of their nose. And, when I find foreign particles stuck to my walls, I pretend it is play dough.

Not even a padlock (or an armed guard) at the bathroom door will keep them out when I am in there.

They secretly love to put on makeup - and they all want their toenails painted.

There's something very disturbing about them running through the house playing "super heroes" while wearing my underwear on their heads, and fighting each other with my tampons.

Ten Reasons why you should not drink heavily when you have toddlers. (In no particular order)

Just because you go to bed at 3AM does not mean they will let you sleep in. They are not sympathetic to your cause. Remember, you put them to bed early so you could party like a rock star. They woke up pissed, and they are seeking revenge.

To them 5:45 AM is like Mardi Gras has begun, and your bedroom is Bourbon Street. They bring out the horns and the beads, and your bed has just been transformed into a parade float. The party has just started and you're running for the toilet.

Kids are smarter than you think. They really don't want juice, pancakes, bacon, sausage, Captain Crunch cereal, a donut, yogurt, a fruit bar, a freshly peeled apple, chocolate milk, waffles, and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for breakfast. They just want you to suffer. It's one of the few times that they will EVER sit patiently and wait. They wait until you resume your comfortable position on the couch. They watch and wait until you get that cold head compress reapplied. Then they ask for something other than the item they requested 10 minutes prior. They are evil.

The smell of their orange juice reminds you that chugging that last screwdriver during a drinking game was not such a good idea. After all, you are not single and 21 any more.

Is it really possible for someone to crap their pants 6 times in one day? I mean, really. Is it?

What is that brown stuff on the floor? Never mind. It can stay there until the carpet gets replaced. I really don't care.

You are seriously wishing you hadn't taught them those karate moves. Especially that round-house kick to the gut. It's no longer cute. It's painful.

OK FINE! You can have marshmallows, M&M's, caffeinated soda, and whipped cream for lunch. Get it yourself, and leave me alone.

10 reruns of Sponge Bob makes you want to stab yourself in the eye. Actually, that would probably feel better than your head feels.

Your child’s cry sounds like weapons of mass destruction have just exploded in your living room. Again, even that feels better than your head.

Captain Toilet and Mr. Poopy

My boys decided they wanted to be super heroes. Since they are two and four, I figure this is yet another phase that will fizzle out soon. I get to make fun of them, I get lots of pictures, and I get some good black male material for their teenage years. It's all good. In my mind it's a good excuse for the jumping off of furniture onto a carefully constructed pile of my foofy pillows, and body surfing their skateboard through the house. I mean, all super heroes need their practice, right? Then I asked them what they were going to call themselves. Every "super hero" needs a name. That is when I was introduced to Captain Toilet and Mr. Poopy. This came as no surprise to me. It was also no surprise that Lucas named himself Captain Toilet, and demoted Nicholas to Mr. Poopy. The little brotha can't catch a break.

Why did this come as no surprise to me, you ask? Because every reference to every moment in time, and every event - including every breath of air - begins with some form of potty talk. They eat "poop cereal", they drink "pootie pootie milk", they want "stinky-butt pancakes" for breakfast, they call each other "booty head", they burp at the table, they fart in public. They are disgusting. It all started with their father and the infamous "pull my finger" routine. There is enough gas in our house to start an automobile. And, I blame him completely.