To begin with, let's all take note that Lu is finally getting some real hair going. She also has a rat tail that's about 4 inches longer than the rest. And no, I will not cut it off. I like to twirl it at night when I'm rocking her before bed. It's so curly and amazing. If you want to pet it, you can. Just ask nicely.
This Easter we played host and had our rag tag group of friends over. Would you like to see a picture? Aw, that's a shame. I was too busy holding Jack, our friend's newborn son. For serious. Whitney and I were fighting over him the whole day. Basically my uterus was shouting from the mountain tops, "PUT A BABY INSIDE ME!" We'll get back to that later.
Oh, and quick note: Justin spilt BBQ sauce on Jack but wasn't planning on saying anything. He was going to wait until I was holding him and then be like, "Look what you did, you little jerk." and get me in trouble. Rude.
I did remember my camera when it came time for the easter egg hunt. Words cannot truly express how anti-climatic it was. Maybe next year they'll be pushing each other and cussing, but for this year they just quietly walked around the yard and collected eggs. Why can't they act like that while indoors? Oh wait, that's because that is too logical. Silly me.
Moving on to me and Justin, which is really why you're reading. Don't be ashamed, it's hard to resist our beauty and charisma.
Justin took a month (thank you, built up leave) off of work and decided to use his time wisely and grow a goatee. Now I must speak frankly: Justin has less facial hair than me, so I was super skeptical. But this was the final product:
Not too bad, for my pre-pubescent lover boy. I told him I would compete with him to see who could grow the thicker mustache, but he was too scared of losing. Which brings mean to photo numero dos.
Like any good wife, I documented the entire shaving experience. I told him to leave the 'stache for a quick minute. I took this photo, barfed a little, and then told him to promptly shave it off before he got put on some sort of sex offenders registry.
And to my final thoughts for today, I ran a half marathon on Saturday. This is me prepping in our hotel room. I feel it's best to warm up like an ostrich. (All of these photos are Whitney's. Thanks, sugar lips.) And please don't ask me about the sign. I'm not sure what it means and no one ever clarified that one for me so...
It was Rock the Parkway in Kansas City. My friend Kelsey ran it too and I was pretty pumped that we would finally being racing together. Girl power, and all that nonsense. So I'm feeling pretty pumped, pretty charged up and ready to go. I peed like eight times before we hit the starting line. We found a woman who was running her first and was super nervous but also chatty. She grabbed my hand as the gun went off and said, "Please run with me!" I'm not sure what happened but I'm guessing the adrenaline got to her, because she shot out of that gate like a bat out of hell. I said in my head, "Uh no thank you" and slowed back down. She's the one to my right in the photo with the black headband. And please note the creepy man in the background cheering me on.
The run started out pretty normal. I found a decent pace and was getting into my flow. And then came mile four, and everything fell apart. MILE FOUR, people. I still had nine to go. That had never happened to me. It was like my body was shutting down. My dad found me and gave me ibuprofen at some point, maybe mile seven? I dunno, it was all a blur. My pace got slower and slower. At mile ten I couldn't see because I was crying. Everything hurt. My hip was out of place. I had blisters that were aching with every step. My body was saying, "Screw it." and my mind and heart weren't far behind. I debated asking one the rich jerks on Ward Parkway to load me up and take me to the finish line. Or Chick-Fil-A. Either/or, it really didn't matter. Luckily I found this woman named Jackie, and she was feeling it too. We hobbled and heaved through the last three miles or so. This might describe how bad of shape I was in: I could SEE the finish line and was still saying "Screw it." But I finished. And my time really wasn't that bad. But it's a pride thing, and my ego was severely bruised.
And that's all I want to say about that.
School is wrapping up and I have a small window before summer school begins. Remind me why I think a college education is important? I can ride off my looks alone for at least another ten years, and after that I can always can become a drug dealer. Now don't get your panties in a bunch. I'd be like a high-class dealer, that caters to business executives and stay-at-home-moms.