It’s sort of bittersweet, the Olympics being over, isn’t it?
I mean on the one hand I will be able to give my early morning Lenten vow another shot. No, it didn’t go so well this morning, thank you for asking. When I got up Colin was insisting he was not going to school. Preschooler D was not satisfied with his breakfast choices, and Brent had not taken a shower. (Note to self: MUST rise and shine.)
On the other hand, the Olympics are just so fun — all that shooshing and flipping and skiing and skating and international getting along drug-free. (Excuse me, Jeremy J, while I reach for my second cup of coffee.)
I was sort of an Olympic snow bunny this weekend. I went on my first snowmobile ride! (Yes, I know that’s not an Olympic sport, but work with me here.) How have I lived in the Great North Country and managed not to snowmobile? I have no idea. My parents are very cerebral. We went cross country skiing, which is sort of the thinking person’s winter sport. You know — out in the woods silently absorbing nature. Snowmobiles are loud and fast. It’s just the sort of thing you’d think a kid — like Colin — who doesn’t like loud noises, fast rides and sudden stops would like, right?