On Tuesday (while some were drinking beer and begging for beads in New Orleans), I took my girls to The Museum of Natural History. Because sometimes I just wake up and want to be surrounded by…

a. a gazillion foreign tourists and a billion local kids on school break.

b. dead animals

c. big ass old dinosaur bones

d. obviously all of the above

On the way to the museum, Dylan asked me, “Why did dinosaurs become extinct?” And I was stumped. 30 something years on this earth and I had no idea. I need to seriously learn more stuff.

We met my friend Sam and her son Paolo at the museum. At first we couldn’t find each other on the 4th floor and thank goodness for cell phones so we could have a high tech conversation like this…

“I’m in the dinosaur room. Where are you?”

“I’m in the dinosaur room. I don’t see you. Where are you?”

“In the dinosaur room. The one with the fossils and the dinosaur heads”

“I see fossils and dinosaur heads but I don’t see you.”

“You know. I’m just spit balling here but maybe we’re in different dinosaur rooms.”

Yes, we did track each other down. Somewhere between fossils and dinosaur heads.

The kids all had fun. Dylan mentioned that her favorite part was the cookie in the cafeteria. That totally seems worth the price of admission and parking.

And it turns out that scientists don’t really know why dinosaurs became extinct. Could have been an asteroid hitting the earth that caused extreme climate change. Could have been severe volcanic activity causing ash to block the sun, killing off the dinosaurs. Could have been an ice age or disease. They don’t really know.

Hey, I didn’t know either. I think that means I’m as smart as a scientist.

So let be the first to tell you. The Olympics are on. Oh, you knew? I guess you must have caught a promo or something.

I’m not even familiar with a lot of the athletes and within moments I will be sucked into their personal stories and be teary eyed over their victory or defeat. So it’s pretty much the same as watching “American Idol.”

Rick and I sat down to watch the opening ceremony this weekend at which point he proclaimed, “I want to be an Olympic athlete.”

I looked over and he was eating a bowl of shredded wheat and drinking a glass of vodka which I can only guess is part of his new training regimen. Because that really is the dinner of champions.

There might be a glimmer of hope for Rick’s dreams because Mexico’s one Olympic athlete at the games is 51 year-old skier Prince Hubertus Von Hehenlohe. You can’t say that name after too many bowls of shredded wheat or glasses of vodka. So I recommended to Rick that he become a prince and we all move to Mexico so he can start tearing up the slopes there. He’s mulling it over.

During the 18 hour opening ceremony, it became very clear that some countries are definitely more attractive than others. Rick thought Italy was the hottest nation. I tended to agree until I saw a smokin’ Lithuanian athlete. I can only imagine that your family had the same discussion so please weigh in.

Now the ice skating is always one of my favorite parts of the winter Olympics. I judge on skill, grace and their outfits. Because I don’t care how many triple salchows you can do, if your outfit sucks, you don’t deserve to be on the podium. And so far, this is my fave…

Yes, a little heavy on the blue but she looks like she could seriously rumble in that outfit. And he looks, well, smurficilicious.

And when it comes to the Olympics, there are always two things you can count on…

1. Apolo Anton Ohno will always have an extra bandana if find yourself needing one.

2. And McDonald’s will never fail to inspire. Just take its Olympic motto, “You don’t have to be an Olympic athlete to eat like one.” So hand over the chicken McNuggets and sweet chili sauce, we’re all Olympic champions.

Remember when my coat was stolen recently from a children’s museum in Connecticut?

Turns out this kind of coat theft is rampant because over the weekend the same thing happened to Lexie.

This is freezing cold, naked Lexie:

Lexie was minding his own business outside a grocery store in trendy Park Slope, Brooklyn (patiently waiting for his owner) when someone stole the coat right off his furry back.

Fortunately, according to the owner, it was his $25 green wool coat and not his pricier Burberry. Lexie is a very smart dog. He must know when the coat thieves are out and about on the streets looking for victims. I am apparently less smart than a dog because I never thought twice about leaving my Juicy coat hanging in the coat closet at a public place.

Now the owner felt so bad about what happened to her poor traumatized pet that she bought him two new coats. So I have since emailed her and asked her to buy me two new Juicy coats but so far I haven’t heard anything back. Her internet service must be down.

Thankfully, both Lexie and I are safe after our harrowing experiences. And it’s nice to know I’m not alone in dealing with this kind of crime.

Once Lexie is feeling back to normal, I am going to discuss with him that “Lexie” seems more like a girl’s name than a boy’s name but I feel he’s too fragile to deal with that right now.

You know when is a really bad time to be looking for a house to buy?

I don’t know, let’s see….

Maybe during a recession. (Or during a modest recovery. Or whatever the heck this is right now.)

In February.

When a major snowstorm is blowing our way.

Yes, that’s about the time that every home owner says, “Hey, let’s put our house on the market. We’ll get a ton of traffic and loads of bids way over asking price. Put up the ‘For Sale’ sign honey and unlock the doors. The buyers will be showing up by lunchtime!”

Crap.

Rick and I really need to buy a house. Like now. Our lease on our rental is up and we don’t want to extend it any longer.

Something happens when you’re looking for a house to buy: everyone has an opinion of where you should buy. Like I just mentioned at Dylan’s ballet class that I was looking for a house and all of a sudden two moms had cornered me against a rack of leotards enthusiastically detailing all the properties I needed to see.

One mom mentioned that I needed lots of space. 5 bedrooms for sure. I just nodded my head because one of the hangers was kind of digging into my back. But I finally confessed. “We’re taking a different approach. We’re going to buy a smaller house and actually have money to pay for gas and food and stuff.”

Because we’re in a time crunch, I’ve been doing a lot of visualization of the perfect home for our family while Rick’s more focused more on talking to brokers and actually searching for houses. It’s a ying and yang approach to house hunting.

“Honey, have you been visualizing our ideal house every day?” I ask.

“I wouldn’t exactly say every day,” Rick responds.

It’s like the man doesn’t want a roof over our heads.

On the upside, I think we own the only Toyota that has yet to be recalled. So even if we don’t have a house, we have a car. And no smart ass, I’m not going to live in my car.

mama bird notes:

Fabulous news on the cocktail front… The Mouthy Housewives are throwing a happy hour party at BlogHer 2010 this summer!! If you want to find out all the details and how to sign up when the time comes, join our Facebook group by clicking here.

And remember, whether you’re going to BlogHer or not, we need your votes!! Aunt Becky, Marinka, Wendi, and I (of The Mouthy Housewives and Mommy Wants Vodka) have put in for a Room of our Own on how to create a successful, entertaining advice site.

So please just click here, log on to BlogHer and then click “I would attend this session” (it’s just above the title: Dear Abby 2.0). After you click it it will miraculously say “I would not attend this session.” This means that your vote for the session has been successfully registered. Thank you!

Rick turned to me the other day and said, “Did I tell you about the really positive, life altering change I made in my life?”

Well, no honey, between our discussions about which day is garbage day vs. recycling day and why we have so many damn packages of turkey bacon in our freezer, you have never mentioned an incredible, life altering change.

So what could it be? He quit smoking years ago and he runs regularly now. And clearly, he married the woman of his dreams. Hmmm…

Maybe he discovered a new spiritual path? Perhaps he read my copy of “Food Matters” and decided to shun red meat for the good of the environment and his own health. Or maybe he’s committed himself to some kind of fulfilling volunteer work.

And then he said it.

“Well, you know how I used to have my work ID on that necklace strap and I was always forgetting it at work or at home and losing track of it? And it just stressed me out,” Rick began.

“Yes,” I said, waiting for the big moment.

“Well, I finally took it off that strap, put the card in my wallet and now I never lose it.”

“Ok.” I don’t want to be unsupportive about this big work ID epiphany but he might have oversold that announcement.

But I get it. Rick recently moved our cable box so that I don’t have to contort my body like a Cirque du Soleil performer in order to change the channel, and I will say that it has had a very positive impact on my life.

Sometimes it really is the little things.

3 year-old Summer understands this all too well because I believe she actually teaches a class in sweating the small stuff.  Like her socks. And how they must fold perfectly on her ankle. And not be askew in any way. In ANY WAY.

Yet, she adores those LittleMissMatched socks. Are you familiar with this brand? The socks have no match. It’s supposed to solve the problem of missing socks. Either that or send some slightly anal parents to the brink of insanity. And by “slightly anal parents,” I mean, me.

Summer received a bunch of these colorful socks for Christmas and they’re maddening. Here’s the conversation I have at least once a day.

“Oh, that’s so cute. Your little girls is wearing the wrong socks,” some well meaning mother or teacher or librarian or store clerk says.

“Actually, that’s how the socks come. There is no match,” I say sadly.

Look, I like order. I like organization. I do not like mismatched socks. The next time I make a really positive, life altering change in my life, those socks may all be missing.

P.S. Dear Auntie T., Thank you for the mismatched socks. Summer just absolutely lives for them. And I hope you haven’t been offended by this post. But for my mental well-being, don’t ever buy us those socks again. All my love, Kelcey

mama bird notes:

I was invited to Sesame Street Live this week (yes, thankfully my kids too). Click here for my review, my up close and personal moment with Cookie Monster and Elmo and how to snag 50% off tickets.