I used to be a big skier. It was before giving birth, being saddled with preschool costs and when I didn’t get a chill from a 60 degree cross breeze.

My husband (who was my boyfriend at the time) loved to ski too. And I was a little better than him but I never made a big thing over it except for that one time when I ironed a patch on the back of my ski jacket that read, “I’m the Better Skier.”

We once went on a ski trip to Park City, Utah where I learned very little about Mormons but a lot about how to ski for free.  Rick and I decided to attend one of those timeshare presentations in order to get two complimentary lift tickets.

It was really simple enough. We pretended to be married. And pretty much just had to listen to the speil, grab our tickets and hit the mountain. We decided we had a small wedding on Cape Cod and then a lovely two week honeymoon on the gorgeous French Riviera.  It was so romantic. And I wasn’t wearing my wedding ring because we had left it back in New York City for safe keeping. It’s just not safe to travel with jewels.

A very excited timeshare representative spoke to us for 45 minutes on the unparalleled joys of owning a timeshare. We listened patiently and then she said, “I’m going to give you a few minutes to think about it.” And she left the room.

“Wow. That was intense.  I hope she comes back soon. I want to get out of here,” I said.

“Honey, I think we should do it!” Rick responded.

“What?”

“Seriously, ski in, ski out accommodations. Plenty of room for guests. Access to a jacuzzi. We have to do this. It’s a no brainer,” Rick explained.

“You are insane. I’m not buying a timeshare. We aren’t married. Do you even remember that we aren’t married?! We aren’t even engaged!”

“And when we don’t feel like a ski vacation, we can trade it for a warm weather destination. You heard the woman. We are losing money by not doing this.”

“Let’s get engaged someday. Let’s get married someday. THEN we can talk about a time share. I’m not doing this. Seriously. I’m not,” I said in disbelief.

“We’d be right on the mountain! Our kids will love it!”

“What kids?! Oh my god!” (I would have said OMG but no one was saying that yet.)

Thankfully, the energetic time share woman re-emerged and I quickly thanked her for the opportunity, told her we’d be in touch, took the tickets and fled.

We did eventually get engaged. And married. And had kids.

And this weekend, we are taking Dylan and Summer to a small local mountain to ski for the first time. I’m guessing it will just be a very expensive way to make them whine. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe they’ll experience that magical feeling of whipping down a mountain.

And a decade after that trip to Park City, Utah, we have never purchased a timeshare.

Or been to the French Riviera.

I recently met a woman whose daughter will turn two in July.

And she’s pregnant.

With twins.

They’re coming in May.

And I had to cover my mouth with imaginary duct tape to prevent myself from belting out, “You’ll have your hands full!”

She had a few questions for me like…

“I’ve been reading some books about multiples and they all insist I can easily nurse the twins in public! Is that true?”

“Hell to the no girlfriend. Maybe in the car. With a giant size nursing pillow. But do not attempt to sit your postpardum self on a park bench and nurse those twins simultaneously. Because you will either drop one or create a crowd of onlookers that would make Lady Ga Ga jealous.”

And then she asked…

“What kind of car do we need?”

“A mini cooper. Definitely the best option! Wait, did I say Mini Cooper? I meant minivan.”

“Everyone tells me it’s going to be horrible having newborn twins and a young toddler. Is it really that bad?”

In my head: “Oh yes, the first year is going to be rough. REALLY rough. The summer after my twins were born, I was so tired, I inadvertently locked my husband in the basement and he was so tired, he was introducing our son as Chad. I would have corrected him but who had the energy?

And I’m pretty sure my older girls were raising themselves. Which would explain the day they almost burned down the kitchen. But now my twins are 20 months-old and except for a little incident today where Chase unrolled an entire roll of toilet paper, sprinkled a bag of grapes throughout the house like confetti and then broke a glass snow globe in the bathtub, it’s smooth sailing!

Outloud: “It’s not bad at all! Sure, there will be a smidgeon of fatigue. And just a hair of guilt. And maybe just a bit of chaos. But no worries! Children are a wonderful blessing. Having one is just like three. You’ll be fabulous! Best of luck to you!!”

Sometimes it’s just better not to know what’s coming.

I’m back.

Ugh.

And I just want you to know that I wasn’t simply vacationing down in Florida, I was enacting real change down there. Remember when I posted this pool sign…

Well, a mere two days later, it was REMOVED. Yes, gone. Replaced with a sign that made no mention of diarrhea. Which either means the pool board of directors decided it’s totally cool to swim with diarrhea or they realized they were seriously nauseating everyone.

Now I have no proof that my post had anything to do with the immediate sign removal but they don’t call me the Norma Rae of Boca for nothing.

(Side note: They may not actually call me Norma Rae of anything.)

Meanwhile, Rick and I spent our last night of vacation with his cousin Wendi and her husband. We went to Johnnie Brown’s in Delray where we danced, watched some fierce senior PDA (which should not be confused with the senior PGA – totally different sport) and took awesome pictures which you will never see.

Unless you hunt down whoever owns my camera now.  I had it in my back pocket but it must have slipped out when we stood up to leave. I returned about 7 minutes later and did a mad, desperate search but it was gone.

Which means someone now has possession of my Cannon digital camera and all those gorgeous, artistic shots I took of that diarrhea pool sign.  What a windfall for them!

(Wendi was obviously very troubled by my missing camera because as I combed Atlantic Ave, she was chatting it up with this guy below who apparently is straight and sells shots at a gay karaoke bar. Yeah, I’ll let you absorb that for a moment.)

Courtesy of Wendi’s iPhone

And yes, I have photos of this guy from the front too but I’m trying to walk that fine line between humor blog and porn site. And I thought photos of his enhanced package went a bit too far.

Anyway, I’m still hoping some kind of magical karma will bring the camera back to me. There have already been some positive signs form the universe.

1. We broke our Sit and Stroll at security on the way home which now solves our Sit and Stroll oversupply issue (Note: Don’t attempt to push your 7-year-old and 5-year-old in one Sit and Stroll since this in all likelihood will break the wheels.)

2. We saw Jermaine Jackson at JFK airport! Obviously, this kind of brush with a mega celebrity is proof that something very good is coming my way.

I’ll keep you posted on Jermaine’s travel schedule.

So how is your vacation going you all?

Oh wait, I forgot you’re not on vacation. So let’s talk about mine!  We went to this adorable strawberry farm and there was this whole group of new moms there. They were so cute, each with their one little baby and obsessively talking about when to take away the pacifier.

I told them as long as they do it by junior high – they are totally fine.

I really can remember being that girl.

And then, at one point, I overheard the following snippet of conversation…

New mom #1 “So how big is a bridge table?”

New mom #2 “You know, the same size as a mahjong table.”

Now, I don’t remember saying that when I was a new parent. Or ever really. Might be a Florida thing.

Anyway, do you watch Parenthood? Every week, I sob through that show because I dread the day my kids start being total jerks to me and then abandon me for college. So I just want to personally thank NBC for making me stress about this years in advance.

Okay, I’d like to show you one of my favorite pics from the week.

It’s a sign from the pool at Rick’s parent’s gated community.

I don’t know about you but when I’m suffering from mad diarrhea, the last thing I think is, “Hey, I can hardly leave the bathroom. But let me try to get my suit on and hit the pool! Marco! Polo!”

And seriously, who would swallow the water after reading the diarrhea rule?!

Because it’s positively cruel to leave you with thoughts of diarrhea, let me post a few snapshots of my sweet children. (You know, the ones who will someday treat me like crap and then abandon me for college.)

mama bird notes:

A friend asked me to post this… Are you a cancer patient or survivor? Or a cancer patient’s loved one? The Cancer Poetry Project: Poems by Cancer Patients and Those Who Love Them is a wonderful book to give when someone has been diagnosed with cancer.

The second volume is now underway and they are looking for submissions. Please send in your own cancer-related poem for consideration. The deadline is April 30th. Just visit cancerpoetryproject.com for more information.

1. Plethora of tattoo parlors:

Me: “I would totally get a tattoo. Mostly because I think it will make me look more like Angelina Jolie. You?”

Rick: “I’m not sure I would.”

Me: “Because you’re Jewish?”

Rick: “No.”

Me: “Because you’re a pu$$y?”

Rick: “No.”

Me: “Then why not?”

Rick: “Not sure I could come up with something significant enough.”

Me: “As if, ‘My Wife Hearts Justin Bieber’ isn’t significant enough.

2. Opportunities to brush up on your pole dancing:

3. Hotel bars with beds and pools:

(Lice, bed bugs and a cocktail!)

4. Most popular breakfast menu item is “Chicken & Waffles.”

As described on the menu… “Buttermilk marinated fried chicken over a fresh cooked waffle, served with whipped butter and maple syrup.”

5. This is what people drink at 10 am:

Yes, those are two Coronas. In his fishbowl size drink.