It's 8:30 a.m. on Saturday. My son is in school and I'm at work. What's wrong with this picture? Ding, dind, ding! You are correct if you said,
Snowpocalypse is not the new black. It's the new herpes. Even though we have gorgeous weather today, Snowpocalypse can still mess with me! (See the whole herpes metaphor working there?)
After I pick up Leopold from fake school, I get to go running with him. 7 miles, with 3 minutes of running mixed with 1 minute of walking. It is so much fun to run with him. I'm not sure why that is. Except he's 9. It's a fun age. Speaking of Leopold, we had some fun over at Adam's blog last night, leaving comments, pictures of us jumping through flaming hoops to win his running crap, fake social security numbers, wild stories of the African safari... I mean, did any of you all send pictures of yourself on fire to him? I think not (we so have this won!).
Also speaking of Leopold, I have to say I'm kinda jealous of how Nitmos lovingly calls his kids "the filly" and "the colt" (aaaaaaw!).
Since it's too late now to give Leopold some adorable moniker, here's what I've decided to do: I call him whatever comes into my mind at the moment, no matter how outrageous, inappropriate, or cruel. This really doesn't do anything to alleviate my jealousness over Nitmos' endearing choices, but it's been a lot of fun so far. In the span of a few hours my poor son has had to answer to, "Pancake", "Watermelon", "Jelly Bean" (do we have a food theme going here or what?) "Castro" (wtf?) "Douche Bag" (that's just not right), "Oprah" and "BeetleJuice".
So, while I'm waiting for Child Protective Services to arrive... I'll think up a running game we could play to make the time go by faster. I've got it: "Rock-Star With a Running Habit". Rules? You have to give a rock-star response to every little hassle. Nothing to drink? Call the limo driver to drive slightly ahead of you with perfectly-chilled water, Gatorade, or other important nourishment. Cars not giving you enough room to run along the side of the road? Smash their rear windshield with your electric guitar while swearing loudly for the paparazzi.
Oh, this is going to be so fun...