Growing old, not up

If you think maturity comes with age, you are sooooooo stupid!  Or you've never met my husband.  Nothing entertains that guy more than a good fart, fart story, or anything flatulent-related.  And I'm the first to admit that his amusement is rather contagious.  This fact will be important later in this post.

My guff-loving husband and I were registered for a race with a Valentine's Day theme, and I thought it would be fun to register as a couple since we had that option.  He refused to sign up as a couple last year, so I thought I'd hit him up again and see if he'd go for it this year.  Again, he was against it...typical "table for one" behavior from Ryan, as his mother likes to put it.  So I did a little research on last year's couples' race times, and I thought Ryan and I could finish in the top 10 if we both had really good races.  Knowing how competitive he is, I informed Ryan of my findings, which was pretty much the same thing as dangling a carrot in front of a rabbit's nose.  I saw that glimmer in his eye, and knew a great team name would push him over the edge and into submission.  I knew the obvious alliterations like "The Pspeedy Psimases" and "Psimas Psweethearts" would be too cheesy for my guy Ry, so I really had to dig deep here.  

And this is where Ryan's love of farts comes into the story.  What's even funnier than a fart?  A shart, of course.  ***If you don't know what a shart is, I'm afraid you'll just have to Google it.  Or watch "Along Came Polly."***  I knew Ryan would enjoy the name Team Shart, but I think it was the slogan that sealed the deal:


Yeah, when I married Ryan, it was so we could grow old together...we never said we'd grow up, too!

Not to discount the Valentine's Day theme of the race, I Fancied up the sleeves to add a cheesy component to the sharts...I mean shirts:

Team Shart fared well, despite the cold and windy weather at race time.  I beat my goal time by three minutes, Ryan finished in under an hour, and we placed 5th as a couple.  With the Shamrock half marathon just five weeks away, there is no rest for the weary.  We'll need to come up with some lofty goals for ourselves for this race and try to live up to the Team Shart slogan.  With Ryan's contagious "suck it up" training mentality and the luck of the Irish on our side (not to mention the promise of free beer at the finish line), I think we'll be alright.



My college roommate, Karen, was the first of my college friends to have a baby.  Some of my favorite memories are of Dayna and I making the trek from one end of New York State to the other to visit Karen and little Hannah.  While most girls our age would be out partying if they got together with their old college friends, the three of us would hang out in Karen's apartment, our sides splitting with laughter over whatever it was Hannah was doing to entertain us (ie, pulling on her hair whenever she heard a Hebrew term such as "mazel tov" or "Rosh Hashanah."  Guess you had to be there.).  After one solid laughter-induced ab workout, Karen looked at her daughter and said, "I'm so glad my kid can hang."  

"I'm so glad my kid can hang" has stuck with me ever since.  Thankfully, eleven years later, I have kids of my own who can hang.  Ryan and I aren't a couple who have date nights...while I consider myself to be a rather cheap date, factor in a babysitter's wages and you end up with an empty wallet.  But we have a lot of fun, and we include our kids in our fun.  They love movie nights at home, bike rides as far as their little legs will take them, and hearing live music at the oceanfront, even in the dead of winter.  Last weekend, while we were enjoying this:

and this:

Brynn and Camryn were enjoying this:

The band shown above would be The Deloreans, a local 80s cover band that's totally rad.  Brynn and Camryn have been warned that the next time we go see The Deloreans play, we'll be in full 80s attire.  And Kevin takes complete credit for that dude becoming Billy Idol, but that's neither here nor there.  The point is, my kids can hang.  

Not only can they hang when we create the fun for them, but they are ambassadors of their own fun as well.  I was overwhelmed by the number of techy toys in stores this past holiday season, and I texted Meghan, my go-to gal for all things educational, to see if there was anything in particular she thought my kids should have. Her professional opinion was forego all of it and foster my girls' imaginations.  Best.  Advice.  Ever.  Instead of zoning out playing games on gadgets, this is what happens in the Psimas house:

BMX practice.  In pajamas and dress shoes.

Staircase sledding with trash bags

Wildin' out dance party on Mom and Dad's bed.  I believe they've got the moves like Jagger.

I'm so glad my kids can hang.