Crazy Dancer

My husband, Craig, has been attending the WCHA Final Five hockey tournaments in St. Paul, MN, for twelve years.  The group of guys he goes with start planning for the trip around Thanksgiving, and then reminisce about last year's trip from the second they get home until they start the planning process all over again.

It's kind of annoying. 

Nothing, and I mean nothing, will stop them from making the annual trek.

Once, when Murray was just four months old, I came down with a nasty stomach flu. I was in the emergency room being treated for dehydration, and Murray had yet to be away from me overnight.  My crying, screaming, begging, throwing up and passing out didn't even change Craig's mind about going to the tournaments.  That night, I had no choice but to send tiny Murray to his grandparent's home (thank goodness they live in our town).

I really, really wanted to throw a rock at Craig's head that day; I don't think I've ever been so mad at him.

WCHA has never been a negotiable subject in our marriage.  March means WCHA with the boys, and no matter what happens, he's there.  I could be giving birth, and he'd probably leave me in the hands of a stranger just to get to the games.

Now, DH is not a bad guy.  In fact, he's a great guy.  But, when it comes to hockey, he's like a crack addict on a mission.  I'm not exaggerating.

This is what happens:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=waU43gypbs4&feature=player_detailpage#t=8s (Sorry, I don't know how to embed this, but trust me, the clip is worth your time).

Yes, that is Craig.  The man I married.

So, I'm thinking, that after eight years of this, it's my turn to start an annual tradition.  Somewhere sunny in mid-January, perhaps.  Cocktails on the beach, anyone?

And surely, I'm a better dancer than he.

Grandpa Doug

I can't breathe.  I'm laughing too hard.  Murray + Grandpa Doug (my Dad) = HILARIOUS.

When my Dad arrived last night, Murray was beside himself.  After they hugged furiously, the first words out of Murray's mouth were, "Grandpa, how many sleeps are you here for?" 

This morning, the second Murray woke up, he exclaimed, "Dad, Mom, I'm going to wake up Grandpa, but you can go back to sleep."  

These two have packed more adventures into 24 hours than I could in a week.

There was the breakfast date.  The two of them walked to McDonald's, ate 'pamcakes' and sausage and walked home. 

We went skating and Grandpa Doug pretended to fall down every time Murray fell.

We celebrated Christmas (a bit late, but hey, at least we were together).

Now, the two are eating 'copporn' (popcorn) and watching a movie, while snuggling on the couch. Murray keeps asking his Grandpa to say the word 'poop' - oh happy day - and he just finished explaining to my Dad that if Rudy finds another rabbit in the yard, he'll play with it too hard and it will have to go to heaven. 

Good grief.  What will tomorrow bring?

Driving Mr. Murray

Riding in the car with Murray is always an adventure in conversation.  You just never know what will pop out of his mouth.  For example, today's 7-minute trip went something like this:

"Mom, you picked me up early?  Why?  Mom, why is it cloudy?  It's not too windy for me. Hey Mom! I sure love Rudy. Mom, who's in that car next to us?  Mom, I made a snowman puppet today.  Mom, the cops are nice, right?  Mom?  I know how many more sleeps until we go to the cities with dad. Mommy, why didn't I get a snack at Linsay's house today?  Mom, are you driving the speed limit? Mom, Gordon is the fastest engine on Sodor! Mom, I didn't tell the secret to anyone!  Oh, Mom? Will you help me set up my sticky trains when we get home?" Mom, why do you love me? Mom, what are we having for dinner? Mom, guess what? Well...I forgot. Mom, how did I eat all the pudding?  I know, let's have homemade mac & cheese for supper!  Okay, Mom?  Will you make me that please?  Mom, I didn't share my Hero because my other friends have their own trains."

Who needs talk radio when you have a Murray?

Real World Parenting

Note:  The following clip contains foul language.

I don't use swear words very often, except for the occasional "dammit".  If the chardonnay is flowing, well, that's a different story.  But sometimes, there are moments in life when saying a bad word just makes you feel better.

My girlfriend sent the following to me.  DH and I laughed uncontrollably.  In fact, we're still giggling.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dU5Mi0QQPMc&feature=share&fb_source=message

Do you ever feel like this?