Let the Smack-Talking Commence

At 6:30 this evening, I was ready to take 2 Advil PM and escape into La-La Land. The combination of loud snoring for the last 3 nights and 2-weeks worth of emotionally-charged days, left me drained.  

But before I had a chance to ingest the sleep-aid, son #2 challenged son #1 and ME to a jump rope contest - who can jump the greatest # of times before mis-stepping? "Are you kidding me?!  I haven't jumped rope in yeeeears!  I think I was a Sophomore in college the last time I picked up a jump rope.  You're gonna kill me!" 

Son #2 wisely begins to flatter me.   "Mom!  You're strong!  You run and you work out.  I bet you can beat me."  You'd think that by age 44 I would have become immune to the flattery trap...especially when set by a 13-year-old boy!  By now, I should know it leads to trouble...every...single...time. 

I wisely attempted to diffuse the compliment by telling him to knock it off 'cause flattery will get him no where.  Then...I promptly set aside my crochet and followed him outside, placing myself squarely on the path to humiliation.  But seriously.  What have I got to prove?  I'm just the old mom and they're just my boys, afterall.

First Try:

Stud Son #1: 58

Stud Son #2: 169

Super Stud Mom: 185

I have to admit...they were more than a little surprised.  Suddenly, they respect me. Dang.  If only I had known that's all it would take, I'd have started jump-roping a LOOOOONG time ago!

Yes.  I am all too aware that this was an entirely braggadocious, self-absorbed, egotistical, narcissitic post!  Apparently I am desperate for affirmation...even if it's self-originating.