Wednesday, October 27, 2010

"Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, [Reckless] is free at last!"

I couldn't resist throwing in a little adulterated MLK.  It's not really that earth-shattering, but I can FINALLY quit feeling like a criminal.

It's taken ninety days of painfully careful driving, but my deferred adjudication is over.  I am no longer on probation with the State of Texas for the two stop signs I blew through (oops). 

I think I have learned something in my probationary period:

If there is an officer of the law behind you, turn right at the first available street or parking lot, pull over to the side of the road, and send a text or make a phone call or get out a piece of gum or something.  Otherwise, the nervousness of having them behind you as you drive may cause you to do something illegal.  Like not notice a stop sign and drive right through it.  Twice.  

Monday, October 25, 2010

What's your RBI? and other pick-up lines heard (okay, used) at the park

David Murphy of the Texas Rangers held open the door for me and my friend Momma Wolg this morning. Go Rangers (although I usually like the Dodgers)! What a precious family he has.
When I returned home, I told Mr. Incredible about my brush with the major leaguer. He wailed, "Oh no! Another baseball player.  That's it for me. I'm out on the curb now." I quickly corrected him, "What are you talking about? You're already out on the curb."

Then he teased me about being a former baseball groupie, diamond doll, etc...  And I shut up real quick because that part was a little true in college.  And because I needed to get out of there and go look up David Murphy's stats.  Go Rangers! (Isn't that obligatory right now if you live in Texas?)        

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Symphonic Romance

Miss Proper went to the symphony last eve with a group of fifty from her middle school band.  Thankfully (or not), I was not with them.  I probably would have cramped her style. 

Fortunately, I had been in the right place (Kohl's) at the right time last week (just as new additions were being placed on the gold star clearance rack!) and had purchased her a beautiful new dress for such an occasion. Then, I shopped with a pal on Monday and found her some cute shoes to boot. When she was dressed she looked at herself in the full length mirror and pronounced, "I look awesome." Wish I had possessed that much self-confidence at her age (or now).  I agreed with her and subsequently dropped her at school yelling through the open hooptie window that I loved her and to have a great time.  I saw that little "shut-up-mom-you-are-embarrassing-the-crap-out-of-me"  cringe on her shoulders as she walked away from the hooptie and into the band hall.  What can I say?  I'm a mom; I get paid to mortify my children in front of their peers.  I'm certain that it's a prerequisite for motherhood.

Before the symphony, the group enjoyed burgers at the Hard Rock Cafe which apparently has some kind of fancy progressive restrooms where the wall between the mens and womens does not fully extend to the ceiling.  What is that?  I'm going to have to start checking that out when I visit the powder room, especially when I already have such stage fright when it comes to public restrooms.  Just add something else to my list of things to fret about.  And then I start wondering about the person who designed said restroom--a sicko or just an incompetent.  At any rate, the girls could hear the boys talking over the wall while they were at the sinks and then paper towels rained down on the girls.  Do you love the subtleness of eleven-year-old boys flirting?       

Miss Proper got to sit next to THE boy at the symphony which would not have happened if I had been there.  He actually had a real conversation with her and told her a story that lasted the whole intermission.   
She was floating four feet off the ground when I picked her up at 11:00 pm; I had to grab her wrist and yank her down into my hooptie lest she float off into the sky.  We tucked the monsters RNR and Bonus back into bed and sat down at the kitchen table to discuss all the happenings of the evening, which included the increasingly-romantic throwing of paper across the bus to get her attention (him) followed by the requisite eye rolls (her).  Isn't this exactly how you remember sixth grade romance?  If only paper thrown across a vehicle could still make my heart skip a beat.  Those were the days.

Not.  Okay, maybe a little.  Don't try paper throwing on me now though; I'll just smack you.  But, I love hearing all the stories of her current crush, and I love that she shares down to the tiniest detail with me.  I do not take this for granted.


Thursday, October 14, 2010

Tip of the Day

Under no circumstances should you stack four Capri Sun boxes on the top shelf of your pantry and then think you can deftly pull out the box that is two from the bottom.  Trust me.

A Dingo Ate My Weekend

I thought I would get a chance to get caught up here this weekend, but, invariably, it was not to be. 

I did do at least twelve loads of laundry, and I noticed an ongoing trend in my coffee table laundry piles:

38%-Mr. Incredible (He works out every. single. day.  Thus, two to three changes per day.)
24%-Miss Proper (Junior high fashion woes.)
22%-RNR (Never met a white shirt she could not permanently stain the first time she wears it.)
10%-Bonus (Rarely wears pants on non-school days).
5%-General Household Items

Everytime I do laundry, I wonder how it is humanly possible for my little family to wear that much clothing. Because I do laundry almost every day.  At least three times a week.  My pile will generally contain several pairs of panties, one or two nightgowns, a blouse, a t-shirt, a twin holder, and a skirt or other assorted bottom.  Sometimes two bottoms and two blouses.  But only if there has been a ketchup incident.  Or illness.  And even then, my little pile represents about one percent of all laundry sorted, washed, dried, folded and put away. 

I'm thinking of a little experiment where the two female children have to do a week's worth of laundry each.  I'll let you know how that works out for me.  I have a feeling they might decide to embrace the "jeans-do-not-need-to-be washed-every-single-time-you wear-them" philosophy that their mother adheres to.  In college, I wore a fantastic pair of men's Gap jeans for an entire semester without washing them.  Granted, by the end of the semester, they could stand in the corner by themselves and would shuffle over to my bed when I called them in the morning, but, they were soft and fit me perfectly.  And, no, they did not look disgusting or smell.  I'm pretty sure they were lucky jeans, too, because I had never had so many dates.  I'm all for the raw denim movement.  If you are unfamiliar with this, click here. 

And any thought I may have had about getting caught up after the weekend, well, they were also dashed when I spent the better parts of Tuesday and Wednesday in bed with the WORST stomachache I have had in a long time.  Apparently, a nasty little bug has been going around, and it was my turn to host said virus.  Not very fun. 

Today I have to make up for the last two days by cleaning, doing laundry, and going to the Krogert because we literally have no cheese.  I think this is the first time in sixteen and a half years of marriage that this has happened.  It's basically a state of emergency in our home.  I'm not sure how I let my home get into such a sad state.  I will rectify by purchasing copious amounts of cheddar, feta, cottage, mozzarella, parmesan, mexican blend, and shingle cheese right now.

Friday, October 8, 2010

Can You Spell Why? You Mean the Letter Y? No, Why? Why Don't I Give You a Sentence?

I'm pretty sure that nobody else can boast that when helping children learn spelling words that the lyrics of a Kajagoogoo song were sung.  These were followed by a rousing rendition of "Rocky Mountain High."    Yes, that is exactly how we roll.  They have to learn it.  You might as well make it memorable and enjoyable.  Gwen Stefani is awesome for learning to spell a certain fruit.  As long as RNR is able to only sing in her head during the test.  And I can see her busting out in song in the middle of class because that little girl not only lives in a musical, she actually IS a musical.  Ask her about Hemfanotalee sometime.  You'll see what I mean.

I know I've been spotty on here lately.  I really haven't had much to say (I know you are in a serious state of disbelief).  Plus, I have a bad case of the Blahs.  The blahs were served with a double portion of discouragement.  And even though the indigestion was AWFUL, I have decided to have a dessert of not talking about it, also called avoidance.  It's my specialty, I'm afraid.  I'm working on it.  Kinda.  Maybe.  Ok, not as much as I should.  I'll get right on that. Stat. 

What have I been up to?  Lots of lunches with pals, LOTS of shopping, an embarassing and uncomfortable dinner with friends, huge disappointments, softball games with crying and bat throwing because of bad calls by the most evil ump who ever walked on God's green earth (there may be no crying in baseball, but I assure you that there is and always will be crying in softball), crafting (against my will, of course), very little cleaning, and many loads of laundry (ah... the status quo.  I can always count on Tide.).  It's just life getting in the way.  It's a three day weekend with ONLY two softball games, one birthday party, one baby shower, one meeting and, of course, worship.  We will see if I can get caught up here and elsewhere.  

Today's Friday favorite is lunch with a friend who makes me laugh.  Hysterically.  Even if I am the kind of girl who more often than not laughs on inside only.  I could use some of that kind of medicine today.  I may OD.      

Friday, October 1, 2010

Three and a Half Hours Later...

...I look almost exactly like I did going into the hair salon.  Only I'm now $$$ poorer.  And I was told that I can't go any blonder because my hair doesn't like it.  Hmph!  Yes, I did point my nose up in the air at that.

I do love getting my hair done on a Friday though.  Sitting under a dryer for forty-five minutes reading People with no one interrupting me is pretty much a dream.

As to the Last Hair-rah,  I'm still working on rocking the long hair.  When you are curly, it takes twice as long because curly hair really has to have the weight to pull it down.  For a long time, it just gets puffier and puffier.  When I straighten it out, it might be at the base of my neck.  Maybe it will be at the base of my neck without straightening it by my birthday.  I'll have my big eighties hair back by the time I'm forty-two.