Where does he get this stuff?

One of the side effects of having FunnyKid in preschool is him hearing and seeing things that I don't know about. At least, that's where I'm assuming he's gotten some of his expressions lately.

Today, he was holding FunnyBoy back from climbing up into our bay window and when I told FunnyKid to let go of his brother, he said, "there's broken glass up there!" There is obviously no broken glass laying around in my house, and I still haven't figured out where he heard it.

One of my favorites-- and another one that came out of nowhere-- is FunnyKid saying, "Me got it" when we tell him to do something. He even once busted out with, "Me on it." And he has learned how to shorten his dad's lectures about why he needs to brush his teeth before bed with, "Me know, Daddy."

As with most kids his age (3), FunnyKid is constantly asking, "why?" I try to answer him the best I can, but it does get old when I have to begin explaining things down to their most basic levels. One of the best calls I ever made as a parent was to teach FunnyKid to only ask "why" three or four times. There is nothing more satisfying than the seemingly endless string of "why's" finally wrapping up with him saying, "That makes sense, Mom."

And finally, FunnyBoy (who is always with me so I really have no idea where he got it) started getting in our faces, opening his mouth wide and roaring like a lion today. It is ridiculously cute and he will sometimes do it on command. It seems someone is following in his brother's footsteps in always keeping me on my toes and thoroughly entertained.

The body in my front yard and other events in my life

I don't have enough for a full post right now, so you get snippets of what life in the FunnyGal household is like these days.

First, there's this guy....
This movie star of a son who continues to amaze me with his words (you try not smiling when he yells "Cah" like he's a lifelong Bostonite talking about the traffic or points to my coffee in the morning and calls it "ca-ca.") And he amazes me with his abilities and his kindness and the fact that he barely speaks and yet had two different people point out how funny he is today at story hour. Life is good with FunnyKid.

***

Christmas was perfect. That's all I really need to say (although have you ever known me to stop at one sentence? Yeah, me neither.) It involved grandparents so excited about watching the kiddos open their gifts that they got up early and other relatives who spent part of Christmas Day pushing a Cozy Coupe filled with cousins around the house and good food and laughter and really, what more could you ask for?

***

While I'm amazed at each of the skills FunnyKid has learned in his 16 months, I'm still surprised each time he picks up a new one. Last night, while I was making cookies, he came over and wanted to be part of the action. I put him on a stool and handed him a spoon and I'll be darned if the little guy didn't understand enough to scrape the sides of the bowl down with the spoon and not go near the mixer when it was running. He also knows where the cookies are stored and how to convince Mom he needs to eat one for breakfast, but that's another story...

***

I guess that's about it. Oh, the body in the yard? You want to hear that story? Yeah, I guess I would too. I'm still not clear on exactly what happened, but I think I've pieced together most of it. See, our house is along the route the local high school cross country team runs (I guess? Does cross country practice in January?) Yesterday, I walked out of the garage to take FunnyKid for a walk, looked up and saw a girl lying face down under a bush by the road. Startled, I stepped closer and saw... five more kids laying behind a rock wall in our yard. They didn't say anything to me (but I saw them move so my initial thought of a dead body in my yard was quickly erased) and I didn't say anything to them because it looked they were lying in wait and I didn't want to ruin their game. About a minute later, as I was getting FunnyKid in his stroller, the group of kids jumped up and started running. I didn't see it clearly, but I think someone had run by and they were surprising her? I heard one of the kids say, "Best hiding place ever" as they ran off, so perhaps it will become the norm for me to have a bunch of bodies scattered around my yard.

***

The other day, I received an email from someone I met for the second time and she complimented my personality. She said she hadn't realized from our first meeting how funny and sarcastic I am, but had enjoyed it during our second meeting. I read the email to the Pretend Husband, who proceeded to tell me I'm not funny! Like, at all. (I may have told him he's bad at his job as an illustration of how important my sense of humor is to me). He later said he was kidding, but it was too late. I had already filed for divorce by then. (Ok, I'm kidding. I'll keep the PH around-- but only if he starts laughing at my humor real quick).

This Christmas is different.

There are very few presents under our tree for me, both because the Pretend Husband and I agreed not to exchange gifts and because I feel like 2010 has given me everything I need. I started crying in church this afternoon watching the joy on FunnyKid's face as his father made faces to keep him entertained.

A warm home, an abundance of food, a loving husband, generous family and friends, success in business and a baby with the chubbiest cheeks you've ever seen. It doesn't get much better than that.

Happy holidays to you and yours. May you get everything you want-- and not necessarily wrapped up under the tree.

Who needs wi-fi when your sister sits in front of a computer all day anyway?

Texts between KAT's lil bro and I:

Bro: Can you look up the chevy dealership in or around [town he's in] for me? and send the address and phone number?

Me: Chevy dealership. Main Street, local town. 555-555-5555.

Bro: Thanks. now can you call stop and shop, the nearest one to the statue of liberty and order a cake that says congrats on the new fish tank figurine? thanks

Me: I'm sorry, you must have me confused with your secretary. I'm filling in while she's on her lunch break, but I'm not authorized to make long distance calls in her absence (BTW, I can't believe you took the time to type that whole thing out!)

Bro: Can you do me a solid though. look up the numbers for [second Chevy dealership] and [third Chevy dealership]?

Me: Second Chevy dealership: 555-555-6666. Third Chevy dealership: 555-555-7777.

Bro: Thanks. I don't know why people pay for phone internet. they must not have family.

Me: Or at least family as accommodating as your favorite sister, right? RIGHT?!?

Bro: Wow... I yelled at myself in my head when I read that. you're good

You know it's bad when you're more emotional than the pregnant chick

Kat's lil bro is a big dude who wears steel-toed boots and sometimes makes crude jokes (he's a firefighter, so I think that comes with the territory). And, despite being raised with (or, by) two older sisters, he's one of the least emotional guys you'd ever want to meet. Looking for a tear in his eye the first time he meets his nephew? Not going to happen. Want some sympathy when you break a bone/ get fired/ lose money in a Nigerian Internet scheme? He's more likely to call you an idiot.

Don't get me wrong, lil bro is a good guy. But he's a guy nonetheless. Which is what makes this next story so ironic.

Lil bro bought a house that year that has an in-ground pool. It was late in the season when he moved in and it didn't get a lot of use. Well, this year, the whole family can't wait for him to get it opened and running because a.) he-- and the pool-- are within a short drive for us and b.) he doesn't care if we use it as long as we leave any extra beer we brought in his fridge (he's easy-going like that).

But the family is waiting for the pool to be opened because... some frogs laid eggs in the water on the pool cover and lil bro is insisting we wait until the tadpoles mature before evicting them and taking off the pool cover.

I was speaking to lil bro yesterday trying to figure out how long it would be before I can haul my pregnant body over to his house and dunk it in the pool for sweet, sweet relief from the summer heat. He started talking about the growth period for tadpoles and other such facts.

"Wait, did you research this?" I asked.

"Yes, I need to know how long before they're big enough to get out of the water," he said.

"Do you think their growth is more important than your comfort?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"Well," I replied. "It's not more important than mine. The pregnant lady needs the pool!"

(I offered to let lil bro collect all the tadpoles and let them loose in our pond, but it led to a discussion about their predators and other facts I had no interest in learning. Somehow, I think the frogs are going to win this one while I make do with a squirt bottle and a fan.)

What? Some families have quiet meals together that were planned in advance? That's so weird.

I thought I was headed home yesterday to hang out with the dogs, make dinner for the Pretend Husband and hang out until we went to bed. That was, until I got a phone call from my dad while on my commute home. One thing led to another, which led to another, which led to me picking up the dogs and deciding to go visit my brother and his house, neither of whom I've seen in awhile.

My brother was a bit weirded out when I called to say I was on my way over and was convinced I was going over to break some bad news to him in person or something. But really, I wanted to see his house before his kitchen gets remodeled today and I thought it would be nice to drop by on him, like he sometimes does to us. And so, lil bro said I could come, but added, "Bring food." (I wasn't offended because I know where his priorities lie. I also wasn't going to bring him anything because I was already on my way and there are no stores between our houses).

Then my dad got involved again and offered to bring over a pizza and wings to lil bro's house if the PH agreed to meet us there. I would get to see lil bro's house, the dogs could all play together, my brother would get his food and we could catch up. It sounded like a good idea-- until lil bro pointed out the fact that his kitchen is undergoing a renovation so he had no table, no way of washing plates after we used them and nothing for anyone to drink.

After a flurry of phone calls, we got the PH rerouted to my dad's house, had my brother agree to pick up the food my dad had ordered and we all made our way to my dad's house since it was the closest place with both chairs to sit on and plates that could be washed after we used them.

A few minutes after the PH and I arrived at my dad's house, my brother came strolling in-- with three pizzas and two containers of buffalo wings. We all looked at my dad like he was crazy as lil bro said, "Why'd you order so much food?"

We're still not completely sure what happened, but we pieced together that my dad had a few drinks in him when he called the restaurant, the man taking the order didn't understand English well and my dad had started the conversation off with "I need three items" (which may have gotten translated to "three pizzas"). The four of us did our best to eat two large pizzas, one medium and 24 buffalo wings while mocking my dad mercilessly about how he managed to order $66 worth of food for four people.

Not quite the quiet night I imagined but, then again, whenever my family gets involved, it's rarely the experience I think it's going to be anyway. I'm just glad I wasn't the one who agreed to pick up the pizzas and got stuck with the big bill.

Well, I hope they're very happy together...

I have mentioned before how-- despite my best intentions-- being married to the Pretend Husband is like being married to my father. And it seems that the more the two begin to resemble one another (in character rather than appearance), the more they prefer to spend time with their pal.

My dad mentioned he just bought a bunch of meat on sale and wanted to know when he should come over for a barbecue on our deck. I mentioned the PH is working late tonight, but said my dad could still come over and have dinner with me.

"No," Dad said. "It's more fun when the PH is there." (he actually used the PH's name this time, but sometimes does call him "The PH")

Uh, thanks, Dad. Finding out your father prefers your husband's company to yours is kind of like discovering you're not actually the favorite kid (not that I ever had that experience, but I'm sure my brother and sister felt this way when it happened to them...)

I'm really in trouble if I find out the PH feels the same way, preferring to spend time with my dad rather than me.

Boys and their toys...

On Friday, my dad and brother dropped off a riding lawn mower the Pretend Husband bought. The Pretend Husband then rushed home from work to admire it and dream about riding it around the yard (it needed a new battery so the dream couldn't become a reality just yet). I can't be certain, but I wouldn't be surprised if he sat on the tractor and made engine noises.

That night, we hit up Wal-Mart to buy a new battery and got home after 9:30 p.m. The PH immediately went to the garage to install the battery. Suddenly, he walked into the house, grabbed a can of beer out of the fridge and went back outside.

Which is how I came to have a strange man with a beer in one hand joy-riding around our yard on his tractor at 10 o'clock at night. I would be embarrassed, but I'm pretty sure the neighbors are used to that kind of thing from when my dad lived in the house (which just proves I did indeed marry my father).

This one is worth reading to the end...

A few weeks ago, the Pretend Husband and I had my dad and his fiancee and the PH's parents (the Pretend In-laws) sit down for a discussion. I began with, "As the dogs' grandparents, we have something to discuss with you. You know how Molly and Casey have been asking for a brother or sister? Well, we have narrowed it down to three options and we want you guys to help us decide."

Immediately, the groaning started up. "A third dog?!? You guys are crazy!"

Quickly, I showed them a photo of a black dog and said, "This is the first option."

The comments continued, "I'm not taking care of three dogs when you go away. This is ridiculous!"

I showed a photo of a white dog and said, "This is the second option."

I was a little scared for my life as we got hit from all sides, "I can't believe you would do this! Three dogs is too much!"

So I quickly put down the third photo, saying, "This is the third option."

(It was a unanimous decision to go with option three.)

If heaven has Super Soakers, my mom must be the water fight champion by now...

I have tried so hard to find the funny in everyday life recently. Not just so I would have something to post (although I'm always on the lookout for stories that translate well onto the blog), but because it's always nice to think about the last time you really laughed. This week hasn't been filled with a lot of laughter (at least, laughter that will translate well). Not because of any catastrophic event, but because of too many hours spent at work and not enough time with the people who tend to make me laugh.

So I'm reaching back into the ol' memory bank for today's tale about my mom. My mom passed away more than five years ago, but definitely still hangs around in the stories my family tells, in some of my facial expressions and, if the corner of my eye is to be believed, in the house we live in (although perhaps that's a story for another time...)

One of my favorite stories about my mom is one I told at her memorial service because it sums up her and her parenting style so well. My mom loved water guns. Loved them. And had tons of them. We didn't give her gift certificates for pedicures or flowers for Mother's Day-- we gave her Super Soakers.

And having enough water guns around the house for everyone naturally led to some epic battles. We would turn on the hoses at the back and front of the house, divide up the weaponry, give everyone a chance to fill up their gun and then race around the yard trying to soak, but not be soaked. And in the midst of these armed kids would be my mom, giving it just as good as she got (to this day, I'm not sure there's anything more satisfying than soaking an adult and not getting in trouble...)

For one battle-- one that my mom sat out in order to work in the yard-- things got a little out of hand. People were soaked but then feelings were hurt and someone ran inside in a huff. And that's when someone (my brother and sister say it was me, but I'll never admit it) dragged the hose into the house to threaten them. And that certain someone may have actually turned the hose on in the house and soaked the front hallway from floor to ceiling. That someone may then have been afraid their short life was about to end.

That's when my mom walked into the house, stopped short when she saw the water dripping down the walls, looked at her sorry-looking kids... and then, rather than handing out the punishment we knew we deserved, she grabbed the closest water gun and chased us out of the house with her squirting us from behind. And that was the day I escaped death (and discovered just how awesome my mom was in the process).

Kind of like a holiday newsletter, but with a lot less bragging and a little more laughter

I'm still getting back into the swing of things at work and haven't been able to come up with one holiday story that summed up the whole experience, so you get some tidbits from the entire celebration. Think of it like a huge platter of Christmas cookies and you can pick and choose between all the good ones...

* Speaking of Christmas cookies, I baked my butt off in the week before Christmas. I was just in the mood to do it. Plus, I got SJ to agree she could concentrate on cooking and would take half of the cookies I made, so that gave me even more incentive. After all our holiday parties, filled with platters of peanut butter balls, sugar cookies, corn flake wreaths, molasses cookies, Hershey kiss peanut butter cookies and Galaxy Cookies, we headed over to SJ's house for Boxing Day festivities. I had two thoughts: "Thank goodness someone else is hosting" and "I'm so ready for some different cookies!" Then I walked into SJ's dining room to find a platter of... because I had done SJ's baking... peanut butter balls, sugar cookies, corn flake wreaths, molasses cookies, Hershey kiss peanut butter cookies and Galaxy Cookies.

* After spending Christmas Eve Day cleaning our house and getting it set up to have 11 people at Christmas dinner, we ended up with 12. I quietly set another place for the guest we had invited but kat's lil bro didn't tell me was coming because I didn't want her to feel unwelcome or uncomfortable. But lil bro let the cat out of the bag by loudly telling her, "They didn't know you were coming!" Despite my best efforts, Christmas dinner was a little uncomfortable for everyone.

* At the end of Christmas Day, after a full day of eating, drinking, opening presents, talking and cleaning, the Pretend Sister-in-Law and I took the dogs for a walk. We got home and I thought, "I can't wait to go to bed." I thought it was almost 9 p.m. Yeah, it was only 6:30. I managed to stay up for a couple more hours... but just barely.

* I got a Snuggie for Christmas (you know, that fleece blanket/robe). Except it's a knock-off Snuggie that doesn't actually close in the back. So it's basically a blanket with two arms sewed onto it. And it feels like a hospital gown because I'm constantly trying to keep it closed in back.

* New slogan in the FunnyGal Kat household: It's not Christmas until one of the dogs is wearing antlers.

It's a slightly more grown-up version of "Can not!" "Can too!"

On Saturday, I made this:

look like this:

Oh, excuse me. It's kind of hard to see with those two vehicles in the way. Oh wait, that's the point! I can actually park cars in our garage! Saturday morning, I started moving stuff around in the garage and taking stuff into the house to put it where it actually belongs and not where it's been since we moved in a year ago. Eight hours later, I was done. And I did it with minimal help from the Pretend Husband, his father or my brother, who were all doing various tasks in our yard (which looks great, but not dramatically different enough to warrant illustration). Ok, I did ask the guys to move some furniture around with me (I'm no superhero).

And, while I was looking forward to finally being able to park in the garage (and I can't wait for the garage door openers the PH promised me for doing the cleaning), I probably wouldn't have killed the entire day on the project if it weren't for one thing. My dad said I couldn't do it.

Am I the only 32-year-old who still feels the need to prove Dad wrong? My dad stopped by about an hour after I started working on Saturday and when I told him what I was doing, he estimated it would take me about four days to finish.

"Oh no," I said. "I'm parking both cars in here today."

"Today?" he said. "There's no way you're going to finish today."

I had to prove him wrong. Which means at hour seven, with one bay cleaned and swept and a bunch of junk still clogging the other one, when I normally would have left the rest for the next day, I soldiered on and got it done. I have Dad to thank for that (I'm thinking of sending him a card saying, "Thanks for not believing in me!") I think the PH is hoping he'll make a comment about the basement next.

Do you think she'll share? It will make work so much easier to take.

The Pretend Mother-in-Law had surgery last week and so the Pretend Husband and I headed over to the hospital to visit her that night. While the PMIL is normally a pretty quiet and sort of nervous person, she seemed to come out of her shell that night and was chatting about all sorts of topics. It was a great conversation that made the 90 minutes we were with her fly by.

On the way home, I remarked to the PH how upbeat and outgoing his mom seemed and mused that maybe it was because I'm not used to spending time with her without her husband around. But the PH thought differently: "It's probably the drugs."

Lo and behold, when I called her today to see how she's feeling, she was giggly and cheerful, and when I said, "You sound like you're doing well," she replied, "It's the Percocet!" and start giggling like crazy. I guess the PH knew what he was talking about after all.

We'll put this one squarely in the "better her than me" category

If you had the privilege of being an aunt to the cutest nephew in the world...

Would you do everything you could to convince your sister to have another child?

Would you pray that she would get knocked up so you could be the favorite aunt to not one, but two of the cutest nephews in the world? (or a nephew and a niece-- I'll take a cute niece!)

Would you hide her birth control when you went to visit in the hopes she'd throw caution to the wind?

Would you talk a lot about how Molly and Casey enjoy Peyton, but think it would be cool to have TWO cousins?

OK, I didn't do any of those things... and yet, kat's lil sis is giving me another niece or nephew anyway! Lil sis is knocked up, with child, has a bun in the oven, is expecting and is due at the very end of this year or the very beginning of next year.

She will be the proud (and probably very harried) mother of two children just 15 months apart in age. I'm not sure if I should be telling her "congratulations" or "good luck." But, either way, I must get to work on all the awesome (and totally inappropriate) Aunt Busty gifts in the quest to retain my title of favorite aunt.

"Did Uncle J come from your tummy?"

There have been some fantastic quotes this vacation, and that blog title? Yeah, that was just one of the gems that my four year old nephew E came up with this week.

e: Did Uncle J come from your tummy?
Me: No, he married me. He came from his mommy's tummy.

(that was the extent of my explanation. JAL was on her own after that.)

He had a few doozies over the course of the week. I can't capture them all here, because you're missing the gestures, looks and hilarious tone of voice he'd use.

e: "Mom, I wanna go fishing. Can we go... can we go... can Auntie Sara go? That's hot" (non sequitor brought to you by the piece of hot dog -- not a Paris Hilton influence, thank goodness)

Another thing about my nephew: He pronounces Lake Champlain as Sam Lake Sam Plane, marshmellows as smarshmallows - but he correctly knows that the evil witch in Sleeping Beauty is called "Maleficent."

I know that I've spent a good deal of this week laughing, a good deal of time fishing and a good deal of time relaxing. But somehow? It still feels like I'm going to need a vacation after this vacation.

I know! I know! I missed a day. I'm so sorry.

So much funny and so many censors in the next room reading what I write every day. (Hi, Mom!)

First, yesterday, it was rainy, so J and I went on an escapade over the border (not Canada, but New York). The lake looked more like the ocean with incredible white caps, etc. But the diehard fisherman were out in their raingear - or, as my mom likes to refer to them as their "costumes."

It was a relatively quiet day, with just a little bit of fishing, some exploring, some reading, and some movie watching. And lots of hilarity -- mostly due to my four year old nephew. He's cute and precocious, and incredibly good at casting. And only hit me with the pole/lure/rubber fish minimally.

I wish I had more energy to blog today, and to tell you all about the "smarshmellows" we had by the bonfire this evening, and to tell you how good black cherry vodka goes with pepsi. But that last thing is preventing me from sharing more today.

I promise more tomorrow.

Hugs and kisses, Interweb.

Love,
sj

My sister and I: 0 Pickerel: 4

Just so it's clear, my sister and I are not huge fans of fish that have teeth. So when it comes to things like pickerel and pike, we are, frankly, scared of them.

So you can just imagine how much fun it was to see just the two of us catch not one but five toothy creatures.

The first one took us both by surprise. It hit my lure particularly hard.

JAL: What is it?
me: I don't know! You tell me! (I was, at the time, fighting to bring it up to the surface, and it happen to be right in front of her.

We both saw the long skinny belly at the same time.

JAL and Me (together): Oh, crap.

That began a string of expletives not fit for electronic publication. It also began a streak of us catching things that could bite our fingers off. Or mangle them, at minimum.

But today was practice, really. Because tomorrow, my sister and I will be joined by a certain four year old who thinks all fish are cute, and likes to pet them.

Tomorrow should be fun.

Day One: Ah the olfactory experience of Vermont. Cows and Fish.

As promised, today begins our vacation at the lake, and thus my daily report to you, our faithful readers.

So I'm sitting here, on the double bed that my husband and I will soon pass out on, and there are these little mosquitoes all over my screen. I've been coming here for... nearly every year since I was 7, and yet, every year I forget about the insane bug issues.

Anyhoodle, my sister and I are not currently bonding, as she is on her boat still. One assumes. It's 10 p.m. and we haven't heard from her. So either she's taken the boat to Canada (a realistic possibility, as it's about 20 minutes from the border), or she's too busy catching fish to answer her phone.

What's that? Why yes, I did bring my blackberry on the boat. How else would I have taken these great pictures for you?

First, this is my new friend. I've named him Herbert. It seems a good name for a turtle.


Next, this is how amazingly beautiful it is. It's almost pretty enough to ignore the mosquitoes.



Funny. I don't remember taking pictures of the bugs. Oh wait. They're just *all over my screen.*

Okay, but really. Besides the bugs, it's perfect. Wish you were here! (but kind of not. because that'd be kind of creepy, and you'd hog my fishing spots. but you know. you're here in spirit.)

Remember back when I used to blog? That was fun.

Yada yada, excuse about not blogging, yada yada.

I realize there's a formula to my posts, so I'm going to try to mix it up a bit. Kind of like how I mix up my work wardrobe by wearing black one day, black another day, then black with red shoes and then black and white.

It's about that time of year when I take off with my family for vacation. Like I do every year. And every year it's full of hilariousness. Hopefully this year will be no exception.

So as I gather my St. Croix rods, Pfluegger reels, Mepps lures and peep toe pumps (because nothing says bass fishing like fancy footwear), I am also grabbing a digital camera and my laptop. Because I vow to our reading public to blog from Vermont *every single day* with the events of the day.

Besides, when my sister and I get together on a boat and there are fish with teeth involved, it's always a good time.

Particularly because her boat has a cooler. And I think I will make Cosmopolitans in a thermos. I just hope that we don't accidentally store the vodka in the livewell. That would not be good.

Just think how excited I'll be when he starts walking...

The day the Pretend Husband and I flew into Georgia for our nephew Peyton's baptism was the day the little guy mastered the art of clapping (uh, perhaps I should clarify that Peyton is the little guy here, not the PH). So, as soon as he showed off his new talent, I cheered, "Yaaaaay, Peyton!" And, because I want to encourage this skill (let's face it, at eight months, he doesn't have many of them yet), I cheered each and every time he clapped.

Clap, clap.

"Yaaaaay, Peyton!"

Peyton giggles.

Clap, clap.

"Yaaaaay, Peyton!"

Peyton giggles.

Clap, clap.

"Yaaaaay, Peyton!"

Peyton giggles.

Clap, clap.

"Yaaaaay, Peyton!"

Peyton giggles.

Clap, clap.

"Yaaaaay, Peyton!"

Peyton giggles.

And on and on and on... I wish I had counted, but I seriously think I cheered, "Yaaaaay, Peyton!" about 500 times in the six days we were there. To the point where kat's lil sis thinks the first time he claps after we leave, he's going to look around like, "Uh, hello? I clapped! Where's that lady who cheers for me?"

Don't get me wrong, I would cheer for Peyton 500 more times if it meant getting to spend time with him. But I am going through some withdrawal from all that encouragement... and I think the PH is wondering why I stood outside the bathroom door this morning cheering him on.