This Dude’s a Doll

kendoll2My sister-in-law arrived last night bearing gifts for my son, one of which was a Ken doll — yes, as in Ken and Barbie. He is a half-clad surfer guy with a shark tooth necklace and actual head of hair instead of the old-fashioned molded variety. Yes, this is a very cool dude.

I’m not sure my sister-in-law brought Ken into our home because she thought my son would enjoy it and it might make him into a kinder, gentler playmate; or better yet, to see if she could get a rise out of her “manly man” brother.  I just have to say, my dear husband stepped up to the Daddy plate and hit this one out of the park.

My husband eww’d and ahh’d over Ken and even suggested that he might make a suitable bath time buddy. So off to the bathroom they three went, and what a time it was. My husband had to wash not one, but two heads of hair (at our son’s request), demonstrated the fabulous floating technique that Ken possessed and even stripped him of his cool surfer shorts to dry for the next day.

Not knowing if my hubby was putting up a good front for me, his sister and our son, I finally broke down and asked if he was really okay with our son’s. . . well, let’s just say it, “doll.” He responded, “Of course I am. . . but G.I. Joe would’ve been cooler.”

Running Like Forrest

I’ve heard of this thing called a” Runner’s High” but what I really want to know is if there is such a thing as a “Runner’s Low,” because, if there is, I just know I’ve got it.

After a few days out of town, helping my husband recover from surgery, two snow storms and a long bout of the crud, I’m just not sure how and where to renew my training for this summer’s 3.1 mile race (a.k.a. – 5k). I had been following my training schedule closely until my two-week hiatus, and now I’m actually afraid to start running — okay, as my husband points out, “running” is a term used loosely here. My gait feels more like Forrest Gump (the young version still in braces); but none the less, it’s still a step up from walking. I don’t know if I should continue where I left off or back up a week or two on my schedule. I’m mostly afraid that my legs, shins and lungs will object to having their vacation cut short so abruptly.

As we all know, things turned out well for Forrest on the running front and he’s probably the only person I know of (yes, I realize he’s fictional) who actually experienced the elusive Runner’s High. . . and boy, wasn’t that a trip. While that high may not actually exist here in the non-Hollywood world because I can’t name a single real person who claims to have experienced it, I can tell you the opposite is a reality and it has knocked on my door.

So here’s to the Runner’s Low, there’s nowhere to go but up from here. . . unless I bite it on the treadmill today.

Warning: Inappropriate Use of Anatomically Correct Vocabulary

Don’t even ask where the conversation started, but my two-year-old son now knows the existence of “boobies” (thanks honey). In an effort to convince him that boys don’t have boobies, I explained to him that he only has nipples. . . knowing that this whole conversation would rear its ugly head at exactly the wrong time.

While his admission was innocent, the timing was wrong and yesterday in church he explained to the family behind us (and anyone else in the surrounding pews) that he has nipples. Yes, “nipples” apparently does have a place in the worship service; and yes, apparently I can turn three shades of pink. Amid giggles and smiles, the young father behind us simply leaned forward, confirmed what he heard and gave my husband a big high five.

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