Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Top o' the late mornin to y'all!

I figured it was time to update this since I left everyone with lovely visions of poop and puke. 

Anyway moving on.  I am considering myself Irish today.  I take this credit since my last name is now Irish and I have been to Ireland.  Therefore that officially makes my children Scotch Irish German Chamorros. 

Two cheers of Baileys with a side of flan for the melting pot.  Speaking of food I would like to report to you that I spent the morning consuming current scones, Irish soda bread with real butter, steel cut oatmeal, smoked salmon and farm fresh eggs.  Sadly the only thing I have in common with that daydream of my morning breakfasts in Ireland is the egg part.  There were consumed in a stuffed smothered green chili burrito since I had all of the ingredients in the fridge.  Hey at least the chili was green.  I did stop short of coloring the eggs green because A. they came out of a green shell already, and B. I have no time to be the creative Martha Stewart mommy this morning because I was busy chasing the freakin chickens around the property.

For the love they are naughty.  After about a half an hour everyone was home again.  If it wasn't for the coyotes and over abundance of hawks and eagles these days I would let them roam free. 

Meanwhile I am still a bit sore from taking ballet last Sat..  I haven't taken class since I was about 5 mo pregnant.  Yes it was easier to get the damn tights on then at Nutcracker 8.5 mo pregnant, but it was just as hard to bend forward and back.  I guess the Tool tightened up everything real good while he was in there.  I was doing just fine till the 11-15 yr olds decided to join the combined Company class that morning.  Now I can't compare or compete with them since they do dance 6 days a week, and have leg extension over my head.  No folks the disturbing part was when I did the math (not in my head of course but with the caculator on my phone) and realized they were old enough to be my kids with Dave and it not be considered a teenage pregnancy.  This just made me feel really old and reminded me that I have been with Dave since 1995.  Still I stuck in there, and managed to whip out a couple of triple pirouettes.  Hoo Ra!  I can still jump, but now my boobs and the rest of my body jumps after me.  Did I look ridiculous, yes, but who cares it beat Jillian Michaels yelling at me from the TV.  The only catch was I couldn't stand next to them during the center.  I realized once I did they were 1/2 my size high and wide.  But I do have experience on my side to fake it at least.  Speaking of performing experiences I am evidentially headlining on the main stage at the Lincoln Center next week.  I did not get the memo, however I figured it out on my way to the post office when I saw this:

No I am not Lady Smith, I am now Lady Doyle, but An Evening with Cara is scheduled on the 20th.  Not sure what I am supposed to be performing, but I can promise you I will not be jumping out of a cake in my skimpies with tassles on my boobs singing Happy Birthday Mr. President.  I am assuming since the letters are spaced out a bit, they stand for a nice respectable organization, a charity or something.  Seriously I found the sign like this, and no Mom I did not rearrange the letters just for fun.  

Off the do some real work now.  India says bye bye


  1. Freakin hilarious!!! I am so sad I missed an evening with Cara...damn.
    Miss you and love that you are doing this is a great way for me to feel like you are here:)
    hugs and kisses to you all.

  2. I love you and miss you too. Love this blog stuff, and yours inspires me to keep on writing. XOXO