Come and meet . . .

. . . my dancing feet. Care to guess which set of gams belongs to me?

Is 39 too old for chorus girl? Hell, I guess not since I'm just getting started. And when you got my legs and move them like I do, I should be playing a bigger role in our community theater production of 42nd Street (uh-hum, snap to those who decided). Actually I feel a little more like this when I'm all prettied up for the stage:

OK so maybe there is an upper age limit on what is right. I'm tired, cranky, I miss getting fat on the couch with my kids, I missed most of American Idol and I'll miss So You Think You Can Dance, my ego hurts, my feet hurt, my brain hurts (I've killed a heck of a lot more brain cells than these 20-somethings, so give me a break). But as silly as it sounds, and it is silly, I'm indulging a dream I've had since I was little: to sing and dance in a musical production. And this is a good one. It'll all be over at the close of June. All right, Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my close-up. After this I may just cram all my dreams down the throats of my boys. Come on boys, pick up those feet and lay 'em down.

Tsega Babe

Tsega is one cool dude. Pictures don't do justice because they don't express his skateboard-kid strut. Seriously, he's got IT. And FYI, his heart is full on sweet love (lucky mate who ever lands him 50 years from now).

He likes sticks, spray bottles, bear hugs, singing, swinging, outside, nature, eating, long walks across the field, big kids, especially girls, and van rides to anywhere. His favorite sayings: Annie and no, no, no.

Annie's one of our nine cats and to Tsega, every cat is Annie. Any boo boo is caused by Annie. Indeed, he blames Annie for just about everything that hurts or goes wrong. Annie, Annie, ow, no, no, no. Poor innocent Annie.

But like his two brothers, he mans up when he goes wrong. I'm sure when they are much older and I ask, who did that? I won't be seeing little fingers pointing to their own chests. Gawd, they crack me up.

Spring/Summer Facials

This look seems awfully familiar. (I so dig on Sira's head profile.)

Last summer it was ash (for that blog post,click HERE).

This summer it is Gold Bond powder (men and their Gold Bond, oh brother).



Apply liberally and copy brother, of course.

My boys, in particular Sira and Bereket, love smothering dirt (excuse me, I mean soil) and pebbles in their hair, not to mention powders on their faces. To which we respond with a good upside down shaking (they love) or if really bad, a head dunking under running water (they hate). Really though, if you just send them to bed with a head full of rubble, it magically dissapears overnight. But feces in the hair, oh yes, I said feces, that takes a little more scrub. I could not figure out why child X kept coming in the house repeating poo (or boo?) and pointing up with a bit of worry in his eyes. Now I know, but I still don't know who pooped and who smeared.