Writing Subjects.

I thought I had a couple of minutes here before the bombs drop (aka my children awake from their precious slumbers) but alas, little Santa Clause began his morning grumblings before I could even get the dang computer turned on. Not a a big deal though. All he needs is a warm bottle of formula (disgusting!) and he's good for about twenty minutes.
I went in there to give it to him and he looked just horrible. I didn't bother putting him in jammies last night because he was so sleepy, so his onesie was all crusted at the collar from last night's dinner and his hair looked like an old man's--thin and wispy and sticking out in crazy ways. I wanted to ask him, "Gosh, what happened to you last night?"
He grabbed his bottle from my hands like he's been suffering from some horrible disease for years and mixed inside the formula is the cure, finally! Then he gulped it with his eyes closed. I just stood there watching him, raising my eyebrows.
Changing the subject, I was going to write about something on here but then second guessed that because my children are the only safe thing to write about, the poor darlings, and even that may backfire on me in the next twenty years.
Joey is running in the Odyssey. I think this is his third time, the stud. As always with these races I am a tinge jealous. I have this fear of running more than five miles. Like the first step after five miles my knees will go out and my lungs will collapse and I will die.
I want to get over this, so I really want to train for a half marathon this summer. Well, to get over that and also to drop five pounds in my butt and the surrounding areas.
I want to run one in Santa Cruz, on the West Cliff (I think that's what it's called), and then to celebrate after the run go get my dang tattoo done ( and then I swear I will stop talking about it).
The problem is that race isn't until April. I'll figure something out.