On Saturday, P took Caroline to the ranch for the entire day. That’s right. The entire day.
I stayed in my pajamas until about noon and then decided I should treat myself to a pedicure courtesy of a gift certificate that Gulley gave me for keeping her boys last week. My toes are happy to report that they are now sporting a very sassy coat of OPI’s “I’m Not Really A Waitress”.
Seriously, I would request it just for the name even if it wasn’t a great color.
So I had myself a wonderful, relaxing day filled intermittently with escorting Christmas toys to their new home in the playroom and doing some laundry.
The mighty hunters came home to report that they had managed to shoot two ducks and a coyote. Except Caroline gets coyotes confused with hyenas and told me she’d shot a hyena, which really would have been a feat considering that, last I checked, hyenas are not indigenous to South Texas.
They told the story in great detail and it involved crawling on their tummies in an attempt to sneak up on a pack of wild hogs. Let me pause for a moment to reassure myself that I vividly remember giving birth to this child even though I cannot believe I have a daughter who will crawl through the South Texas dust and mesquite in the quest for a hog.
Anyway, as they snuck up on the hogs, Caroline saw something out of the corner of her eye and whispered, “Daddy? I think I see a baby deer or maybe it’s a fox or a hyena.” It turns out it wasn’t any of those things, but rather two coyotes standing no more than twenty yards from them, staring intently.
You just know those coyotes were thinking, “That little one will be a piece of cake, but if we can pull down the big guy we’ll eat like kings.”
Needless to say, one of the coyotes went to be with Jesus and the other one practiced good common sense and got the heck out of there.
They had so much fun on their little ranch adventure that they went back again yesterday. I decided to be slightly more productive, mainly because I had to go to the grocery store since according to P we were out of “all kinds of things”, even though all he could name was Lubriderm lotion and Vaseline lip therapy.
It’s a wonder we made it through Christmas.
I decided that I’d go over to Mimi and Bops’ house to work out on the elliptical before I went to HEB because, let’s face it, the holidays haven’t been kind to my hips. I was doing so well with my workout regime prior to the week of Christmas but fell off the bandwagon and straight into a plate of sugar cookies.
When I got to their house, Bops was home from work early and suggested I might want to try his pre-programmed workout because I think he is plotting my untimely demise. I knew it was a bad idea, made even worse when I realized my iPod was dead.
There’s no way I’m going to get through a serious workout without Beyonce cheering me on with some “Single Ladies” because it motivates me to remember that P already put a ring on it and the least I can do is make sure he still likes it.
I lasted all of ten minutes on my daddy’s workout regimen. I spent the first five minutes thinking I might die and the last five minutes wishing I would. Finally, I admitted defeat and switched the machine to my regular program which is a decent workout and won’t cause me to drop over dead.
My goal for the New Year is to be able to do the same workout routine as my 63-year-old father.
It might kill me.
But if I had to choose, I’d rather die by elliptical than by coyote attack.