You can either do it with a happy heart or a stingin‘ butt.~ said by April to one of her children.
 This is a series of posts that I wrote back in 2006 on living with less stuff. Check them out:
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“Hi Michael, how’s Caroline and the girls?” I say to my husband when he has major poofy head, but has shaved off all his facial stubs. “Hi Barry, wannna disco?” I say to my hubbabubba when he grows out his beard and unbuttons the top fifty five buttons of his light blue satin disco shirt, yeah baybee! “Hi Nick” I say breathlessly to my hotband when he slicks back his hair and sports a goatee. “Kramer! You idiot!” I yell at my husband when he slides across the kitchen floor in his socks and crashes into me or pretends to break his nose on the closet door that I just opened in his face. He’s a versatile man. A veritable chameleon. A comedic genius and a gentle soul. A disco rock star and and a delicious dish. And I get to live with it…I mean him. My sister drove to St. Louis from her small existence in Kansas to become certified as a Zumba instructor. Now I can’t stop chanting, “Zoomba-zooomba-zoomba-roomba-boomba“. She told me I would love to Zumba, if I could stop laughing long enough to concentrate on the moves. Zoomba-zoomba-zoomba-roomba-boomba. She wants to start teaching classes in her small town and I asked what she would call the class. “Will you call it Zoomba Boomba? ” No. “Will you change your name to Roomba so you can call it Zoomba with Roomba?” No. “Well, just Zumba doesn’t sound like much fun. I think you should call it Put Some Boomba in Your Roomba with a Bit of Zumba!” No. She takes this Zumba stuff pretty seriously |
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Get your groove on. |
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Copyright © 2006-2012 Coal Creek Farm and April Phillips - All Rights Reserved |
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