Being a Pansy

The trouble with blogging is that you want to post things as they happen. Keep it all in chronological order. Tell you the stories about what happened first, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth, tenth, eleventh, thirty-first, etc. If I get behind (and I am BEHIND) then I can't decide what to do.

Indecision wracks my brain.

Then I read a smutty romance novel and pretend that I'm not debating over what to blog about. Then three days pass and I still haven't done anything. Then a week passes. Then a month.

OK, not a month.
Yet.

But you never know just how bad things could get! Remember back when I was blogging every day? Sometimes twice a day? Those were the good times.

Now, I am a blogging bum.

So I shall tell you a story.

One time my younger brother, Matt, wanted me to take his picture skiing. Why? Because his friend, Bart, had an awesome picture of himself skiing on Facebook. He was slaloming (one ski) and making a hard cut and the photographer had caught the perfection of the water spray and Bart's awesomeness. Matt needed to top that picture. Multiple times. And tag Bart in at least one of them so Bart could reciprocate Matt's jealousy.

Boys. Yes, boys, because he is not quite yet a man. Even though he's 25. And married. And owns his own stuff. And has investments.

He's still a boy because I said so.

That was a good story, eh?

I'll tell you what though, taking pictures of people skiing was fun.

When your goal is to cut as hard as possible to create as large of a spray as possible it's a good time.

And it didn't hurt that the water was perfection. Glass. Smooth, calm, reflecting everything.

Then the older brother wanted to get in on the action.

Oh, and my father.

Man-boys. What are you going to do with them?

What's that? Show them how it's done? OK, Abby (favorite sister-in-law) you do that.

(She's Daisy's favorite SIL too.)

WHEW! That was a tough one.

(In a side note I will take this moment to clearly point out that I did NOT ski this year. And full of excuses like "I have a bad back." I am a pansy. And I really do have a bad back, thank you years of throwing heavy objects in college. Track & Field [emphasis on the field] anyone?)

Clearly there's a winner here...

...and it wasn't this guy.